Though I Walk Through the Valley
by Amatara
Summary: So what happened during those sixteen long years in which Londo waited for the prophecies to come true? A multi-chapter story, intended to bridge the gap between Londo's ascension to the throne and Centauri Prime's eventual liberation from the Drakh.
1. Londo (2262)

**Author's Notes:**

This is basically an alternate version of the events post-_Fall of Centauri Prime_; alternate, that is, to Peter David's _Legions of Fire_ trilogy. I do not presume to match Mr. David in terms of writing skill, but I did miss a number of things in his novels, which led me to try to write my own take on events. As such, I am not considering the trilogy to be canon, and no knowledge of the novels is required to read this. The story takes off during the season-five episode _The Fall of Centauri Prime_ and covers the sixteen-year period until Londo's eventual death (so yes, it will have - canon - character death eventually).

This will be a multi-chapter story of which I will post new chapters as I write them. I am not in the habit of leaving stories unfinished, so I will do my utmost to finish what I started here!

Characters likely to appear further on include but are not limited to: Londo Mollari, Vir Cotto, G'Kar, Timov, Delenn, Lennier and David Sheridan.

* * *

**Though I Walk Through the Valley**

* * *

**I. Londo**

Through some quirk of fate, the main wing of the palace had remained intact. Amidst its raucous grandeur Vir Cotto had looked… lost. Not merely that; some of the old fear seemed to have crept back into him, making him stoop a little lower than he should.

There were many kinds of fear, some foolish, some useful, and Londo had developed something of a nose for them over the years. But it had been a long time since he had smelled this particular kind on Vir. Definitely not after the business with Cartagia, where Vir had learned once and for all that there were far better things to fear than an aging Centauri diplomat. Or so Londo had believed.

But it was clear from the set of Vir's shoulders that he was afraid now, and that Londo was the cause of it. Not simply because he was about to become Emperor, but for what it might change between them. What it had already changed.

The blame for that was entirely his own. Vir had come rushing here from Babylon 5, for no other reason than to make sure that Londo was all right, and how had he responded? By chiding Vir like a halfwit child for walking in on him _as he was dressing_. The irony was thick enough to choke on. How often had Vir helped him dress under conditions far less dignified, often with alcohol dulling his senses to the point where he could not button his own coat? Granted, that was years in the past, but the same could not be said about the first day after his heart attack, when he had needed Vir's help to lift so much as a spoon. Of course Vir would not hesitate to walk in on him now he was Emperor. Why should he?

The answer, of course, was _them_. And _it_. It had been over twelve hours since the Drakh had given him his Keeper, but it felt like only now his head was starting to clear. The Keeper's surface thoughts were utter chaos, as disorienting as they were primitive. Tuning them out was proving to be a challenge, but Londo was learning, slowly. As long as the Drakh named Shiv'kala – his Keeper's keeper, the one who spoke for the others – did not touch his mind directly, he was finding he could keep the horror at bay.

Still, every now and then his control would slip. Just now, he had been making his way to the gardens in hope of finding Vir, who seemed to have wandered off while Londo wasn't looking. Stumbling over a cracked step, Londo had lost his focus only for an instant. The wave of _malice _that washed over him, a lightning bolt of noxious pleasure that seemed to crackle through every nerve in his body, was sudden and sickening and intense enough to drive him to his knees. He was reduced to sagging down on the steps, gasping for air and struggling to hold on to the contents of his stomach as his Keeper writhed with glee. Shame burned behind his eyelids, but as always, his eyes remained dry. Of course they did. After Adira, he did not think he could have any tears left.

It was on those steps that Vir found him – more composed than he had been, thank the Maker, although he still felt too unsteady to risk getting to his feet. Londo heard Vir before he saw him: hurried, shuffling footsteps that broke into a run in the last few seconds.

"Londo – what are you doing here?" Vir practically flung himself onto the steps. His cheeks were red and puffy, but whether from anger or something else, Londo couldn't tell. It seemed Vir was getting better at hiding his emotions. "I thought you were going to address the people. Are you –" Vir cut himself off.

"I'm all right," Londo said. Not quite the truth, but that couldn't be helped. "And I am sorry if I gave the impression earlier that that had become an inappropriate question to ask. I was… preoccupied. I did not mean to snap at you." _Oh, but you did, _his Keeper hissed, but Londo gritted his teeth and pushed the thought away. "Believe me, I am glad you are here." That at least was not a lie. Still, he knew Vir would have to leave soon enough; every hour he stayed would put him more at risk of being noticed by the Drakh. It was a good thing those who did not know Vir tended to underestimate him. "And to answer your first question: I was looking for you. I was just… catching my breath."

Vir's hand, which had been plucking at his trousers, came to hover above Londo's arm. "I'm sorry I went outside without telling you," he said. "I – I needed some fresh air."

"I thought you would," Londo said, sitting very still. With the Keeper held in check and the sunlight trickling down through a thin layer of cloud, he could almost pretend everything was as it should be. At least as long as he did not look at the heaps of rubble where the Narn and Drazi weapons had hit, or at the pillars of black smoke still rising from the capital. "You've always enjoyed the orchid garden, did you not? I remember in the days after Cartagia, you often came here."

"I remember I once threw up on one of Cartagia's prize orchids," Vir smiled faintly. "The night of G'Kar's whipping. All of that seems so long ago now."

Londo nodded, but the memory did not make him smile. Already he regretted bringing up Cartagia in the first place. The whole affair had brought them closer together, yes, but it had also shown him how much they truly differed. Vir had taken Cartagia's life, an act Londo knew continued to haunt him. He knew this because several times over the past months, Vir had brought him his breakfast red-eyed and disheveled, and Londo was far too familiar with the ravages of nightmare not to recognize them on sight. As for himself, he did not dream of Cartagia's murder, or the other ones – like Refa's, or Morden's – committed in his name. Unlike Vir, he _was_ capable of killing in cold blood. That didn't mean he did not dream. Images of the Narn bombing still disturbed his sleep, as did his death dream, and one other nightmare that had been plaguing him of late: that of Centauri Prime in flames. Now that it had come to pass, Londo wondered just how cold his blood would prove to be once the Drakh started ordering him to do their bidding. He remembered the Regent, forced to turn off the defense grid, having to watch the city burn. The thought made his gorge rise.

Beside him, Vir straightened abruptly, as if he'd reached some decision. "Londo, I – we should talk." He swallowed once, hard, but his voice came out unexpectedly firm. "I – I realize things have happened here, ugly things that – that can't be undone. The attacks, the Shadow technology that was stolen and used on our ships… And now the Alliance wants us to make amends, and I understand that, but surely you aren't just going to give in? If the Regent acted alone…" Vir paused to bite his lip. "Gods, Londo, I can't even begin to understand how the Regent of all people could be capable of that, but if he _was_, and if he did_,_ say, crack under the strain, then why can't we… I don't know, be open about it? Surely if we extend a formal apology, President Sheridan and Delenn would reconsider –"

"It's not that simple," Londo cut him off. He pushed himself to his feet with a jerk, a maneuver that nearly overbalanced him, but Vir caught him before he could embarrass himself. Londo was forced to cling to his shoulder until the weakness passed.

"But why _can't _it be that simple?" Vir pressed, as he steered them both up the steps and across the rubble-strewn path. "And why do I get the feeling you're keeping things from me? After everything we've been through, you still don't trust me?" His voice was hurt, indignant. "I mean, I – I know I don't have much experience in things like these, but won't you even _consider _what I just said?"

That stung, badly. Of course he had considered speaking with Sheridan again, possibly even telling him the truth. But the Drakh would never allow it; if there had ever been a chance for him to speak out, it had been taken from him when he accepted the Keeper. And even if he could somehow reveal the Drakh's presence, he had no idea how many they were and what they were capable of. Great Maker, the damage they might do before it was all over...

No. He had one hope, one vision of a better future: the one where Vir became Emperor after his death. It might take years to come to pass – there was no telling how many, because he could not say when his death dream would come true – but it would not come to pass _at all_ unless Londo played his role. If that meant having to carry a Keeper for the rest of his days, if this was the burden he had to bear, he would not shy away from it. Right now Centauri Prime was crippled, unable to fight, which meant his only other option was to put his world at the mercy of the Alliance. And look what mercy their precious Alliance had dispensed so far, asking for recompensations knowing full well Centauri Prime could not pay the price! No, if the Centauri were going to overcome their plight, they would do it themselves, as the proud people they were, and not by bending their knee and groveling like Sheridan would have them do. But how could he make Vir understand?

"Vir…" He stopped, groping for words. How to come up with an explanation that would seem inconspicuous to the Drakh, yet leave Vir with more than hollow excuses? "I do trust you. It is… others, whom I do not trust." A glance to his side confirmed he had Vir's attention. "There are forces at work here too strong for one man to oppose. Even for a man who might call himself Emperor. The Regent tried, but failed, and I am not at all certain that I can succeed. As long as that is the case, I cannot keep you safe except through silence."

Vir's eyebrows scrunched up as he pondered that. "With 'others', you mean… someone in court? Someone other than the Regent? But… you told everyone he acted alone."

"So I did," Londo said. "Not every word you hear from my lips will be the truth, Vir. You must remember that. And – I am endangering you even by telling you this. The moment Delenn and Lennier leave with Sheridan, you must go with them. G'Kar, too. I have not told him any of this, but he has seen much. I wouldn't be surprised if he has written it all down in that wretched book of his. You should talk with him… but not here." His Keeper twitched restlessly on his shoulder. Had he said too much? No, surely not – just vague words and riddles, nothing the Drakh would concern themselves with. _Yet._

Vir nodded. For once his expression betrayed nothing. "I understand," he said quietly. "Or, well, I don't, really. Not all of it. But I will. At least I – I hope I will. Thank you, for telling me what you did." He looked across his shoulder at the palace, his face clouding again. "We've been out here for a while. Maybe we'd better go back, before they miss you."

"Oh, they will hardly miss me," Londo said darkly. "But you are right. I must address the people. And Delenn and Sheridan will be wondering where we are. We should go to them." If only to make sure Shiv'kala kept his promise and did not have them executed anyway, in a dark, damp corner of the palace where no one was watching.

Londo suppressed a shiver. Beside him, Vir pressed his lips together and returned his hand to where it had been at Londo's elbow. He only removed it as they passed through the gate that led them back inside.


	2. Timov (2262)

**II. Timov**

For the first time since the attack, she was grateful the streets were deserted. Otherwise she would never have made it in time. Not that she owed Londo anything these days, least of all to come running at his summons like a lovestruck damsel. But that was unfair, Timov knew. Apart from the fact it hadn't been Londo's summons to begin with, it had also sounded suspiciously like a plea.

Vir had lost weight again. That was the first thought that hit her when his face had appeared on her personal comm screen. He seemed relieved when he saw her, but there was a grayish tinge to his skin and his eyes looked sunken.

"I'm so sorry for intruding, Lady Timov," he said, stumbling over the words in his hurry to get them out. "I know this is a bad time, but – this is important." Despite his discomfiture, there was a sharpness to his tone that reminded her in nothing of the shy youth she'd first met on Babylon 5.

Timov had lost no time with pleasantries. Yesterday, after the firing stopped, Londo had sent a guard to check on her while the comm systems were down. The man had been stiff-lipped and sullen, but he had told her just enough she had a decent idea of what Vir could be calling her about. Nothing good, she was sure. She'd set her viewer to scramble and record the conversation, just in case. And then Vir had talked.

"It's bad, Timov. The Regent is dead, and Londo… they're preparing for his coronation right now. President Sheridan is here, and the Narn and Drazi fleets have stood down, but they've got proof that our ships were behind the attacks on those shipping lines, and Londo's about to address the people now, and it's just... I don't know what he's going to tell them. But he's sending us all away, Sheridan and Delenn and G'Kar and me, so it can't be anything good, can it? He doesn't even want us here for the coronation. He wants us all off-world – for our own safety, he said." Vir was talking so rapidly now that Timov found her own nerves beginning to fray. "He shouldn't be alone, lady Timov. I know I shouldn't be asking this of you, but I don't know who else to ask. If there's anything you can do, anything at all…"

For a moment, the old impulse had kicked in and she'd actually pretended to think it over. But really, there was no need.

How the wheel turned, she thought, as her carriage rattled across the cobbles. Not three years ago she had wanted nothing more than to be rid of Londo, and now she was riding to his rescue. If it could be called a rescue at all. News of the goings-on at court had become increasingly hard to obtain, so she'd be going in practically blind. Still, as Londo's wife it was her business to at least know what was going on with _him_. For that she had her own contacts inside the palace, of course, and Londo himself had been refreshingly candid of late. He had come to see her at least once on each of his recent visits to Centauri Prime. Timov suspected he found distraction in the sting of her barbs as much as in the sharpness of her wit, so she had been only too happy to keep him well supplied with both. Vir often came with him, so Timov had grown rather attached to the boy. On Londo's last visit, Vir hadn't been there but someone else had – the former Narn ambassador G'Kar. Who was there as his bodyguard, or so Londo had said, although Timov would have been a fool not to see there was more to it. Not that the details interested her. But if Londo had decided he could no longer trust either Vir _or_ G'Kar, then trouble had to be brewing.

She got a sense of exactly how much trouble once Londo's projection appeared in the sky. She could barely make out his features through the lingering smoke of the bombardment, but his voice was clear enough as it boomed across the capital. By the time the speech was finished, Timov wasn't sure whether to feel angry or terrified.

_Oh, Londo, you proud, stubborn fool_. There was a time for pride, to be sure; Timov of all people wouldn't deny that, but pride would hardly serve them now. They didn't need the Alliance, Londo had said. The Alliance had betrayed them, and they would not stand for it. Such pointless, empty talk. Timov had met Sheridan once, when he was still commander of Babylon 5. He had struck her as reasonable enough under the right circumstances, reasonable enough he might yet reach out to the Centauri if they made a gesture of good faith. Given that Londo had just blown up the final bridges between Centauri Prime and the rest of the galaxy, such a gesture didn't seem forthcoming.

Timov directed her driver to take her to the cathedral, where every emperor had been crowned for the past eight centuries. She arrived at the foot of the staircase just in time to see Londo climb the last few steps. For a moment, she considered calling out to him – but no. This moment was his. If he wanted it to be a private one, who was she to deny him that? She could wait. After all, in his speech, Londo had said nothing about walking _from _his coronation alone.

She climbed the steps slowly, cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders. From this vantage point, the devastation was even more complete than it had seemed from the ground. Entire buildings had been flattened, including the main hospital and what looked like the central archives, and several patches of the city were either still burning or vomiting thick plumes of smoke.

"Stop!" A guard appeared in the doorway, holding out his blade. "No one is allowed here, by order of the Emperor!"

"I see." Timov shot him a glare that she had been assured by various sources could melt steel. "And would the Emperor be pleased to hear how you pointed a blade at his wife?"

When the guard blanched and muttered apologies, she actually felt relief; she had not been entirely convinced she still had it in her. It was only after he'd left that she truly realized what she'd said. She was the Emperor's wife now. His only wife, at that. All her life she'd loathed being a nobleman's wife, a pretty trinket to parade in front of others. She'd long stopped thinking of herself as pretty, but the rest was no less true today than it had ever been. Except that where once she'd defied Londo openly, flaunting her insolence for everyone to see, right now she felt strangely protective of him. Centauri emperors did not generally lead long, fruitful lives. Whatever role she would be expected to play, it would be more difficult for Londo than for her. Not that there wasn't a certain poetic justice in that.

"Timov?" She turned; Londo stood at the top of the staircase, blinking down at her. He couldn't have looked more astonished if she'd stood before him naked.

"Londo." She nodded, keeping her face impassive. "Or should I say 'Your Majesty' now?"

Londo was still staring, as if trying to figure out if she was real or a mirage. Then he snapped out of it. The next thing she knew, he was rushing down the steps towards her. "Great Maker, of course not." Was she dreaming, or had his voice actually cracked for an instant? No. She was sure it had not. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Talking to my husband, I do believe," Timov said. "Though I would prefer to do so closer to the ground; the view from here is hardly uplifting." That, and that cursed wind was cutting the flesh right off her bones, but she could hardly tell Londo that. Whatever else she was, she refused to be a fragile flower.

After a moment, Londo nodded, and they started the long descent. "Are the children all right?" he asked. The children were Urza's, of course. Timov had never known the whole truth of the business with Urza Jaddo, only that Londo had vowed to provide for his family after his death. A death which, according to Vir, had been by Londo's own hand. Londo had always refused to discuss it, and Timov hadn't pressed him for details. Londo and Urza had always been close – close enough, in fact, for some rather mean-spirited rumors to arise – and it was obvious that Urza's death had affected Londo more than he would ever admit.

"As well as they can be, considering," she replied. "They're frightened, of course; Mila couldn't sleep last night because of the nightmares. But they're unhurt." Mila was eight, and Timov's favorite; she was loud and impetuous and had a penchant for getting into trouble. "Of course I told them our new emperor would make it all better with a wave of his hand."

Londo's head snapped up. "You did no such thing!"

"No," she admitted. "I didn't." She kept glancing at Londo from the corner of her eye. The circles under his eyes were easily a match for Vir's, and there was something else, a stiffness to his movements that made him look older than he was. In a flash, Timov realized she had already made up her mind. "I'm coming with you," she said. "To the Royal Palace."

Londo froze, sputtering. "Have you gone mad? Why would you want to come with me?"

_Because you _need _me, you idiot_, she thought. What she said instead was, "I'm your wife. I could think up more insane notions than that of our occupying the same building – though several that are more agreeable, I'll admit." There. Let Londo pretend she was doing it to spite him, if that would help him accept it.

"Out of the question!" Londo barked. "Since when have you cared about what is expected, hmm?" He was putting on a good façade, but not nearly as good as her own. He'd paled, and one of his hands clenched into a fist at his side. The gesture looked so out of place it only strengthened her resolve. Londo had no one else to trust. If he wasn't strong enough to bend without breaking, _she_ would have to be.

"I _want_ to come with you," she said, as neutrally as she could. Irony had been her shield for so long that she felt exposed by omitting it, but she was out of other options. She took a deep breath and added, "Please."

Londo's mouth opened, then closed. His arms dropped to his sides, and for a moment he looked as exposed as Timov felt. He sucked in a breath as if to protest, but instead it emerged in a long, shuddery sigh.

"All right," he said. "I will have chambers prepared for you. You will be welcome to visit them whenever you wish. But only you; the children will stay where they are, and so will Lysandra." Lysandra was Urza's younger sister; she'd taken charge of the children after Urza's widow died a year ago. "These are turbulent times, and the Royal Court has become a dangerous place, even for you."

"Why, Londo," Timov said. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were concerned for me."

Londo blinked, then shot back, "If I knew you at all, I would think it strange that you suddenly want to be at my side." There was a hardness in his voice, but it wasn't directed at her, she knew instinctively. In fact it reminded her very much of Vir's tone when he was giving her the news – not angry, but frightened. What could Londo be afraid of, she wondered?

They'd reached the bottom of the staircase. Her driver was waiting outside the carriage, and Timov gestured at him to give them some privacy. The air was fouler down here than up by the cathedral, cloying and thick with the smell of destruction. Timov coughed and covered her mouth with her hand. She had never loved the capital with its pompous architecture and even more pompous inhabitants, but right now, her heart ached for all of them.

She folded her hands above her cloak. For some reason, she was finding it very hard to look Londo in the eye.

"Being at your side doesn't bother me," she said. " What bothers me if is being _forced_ to by tradition, and I don't see anyone forcing me now. Stop trying to make my choices for me."

"Timov..." This time, she didn't have to imagine the emotion in his voice. Oh, dear. Every moment now, Londo was going to say something foolish and sentimental and utterly irreversible and it would undo both of them. She couldn't let that happen.

"Don't," she said. "We're too old for regrets, Londo. You don't have to prove anything to me. And I don't need to be wooed like a maiden in order to feel like I'm worth something to you, or anyone." That had sounded barely coherent, but she was sure Londo would understand.

"Great Maker, Timov," Londo muttered. "You are quite impossible, do you know that? Magnificent… but impossible." From somewhere, he managed a smile. "I'll have chambers arranged for you, you have my word. They will be ready for you tomorrow. I presume there is no need for them to be anywhere close to my own?"

Timov forced herself to roll her eyes. "We're too old for that, too." She wondered if Londo would notice she hadn't actually said 'no'. Something made her think that he would.

"There is no such thing as 'too old for that'," Londo said, still with that strange smile on his face. She wasn't truly surprised when he reached for her hand and moved to kiss it. Londo had always been fond of dramatic gestures.

"Stop that," she said, wriggling out of his grip. "You know I take no pleasure in being made to feel like a lady! I will feel that way more often than not from now on, I am sure."

Londo drew back, a wounded expression on his face. She wasn't quite sure what possessed her to do it; surely not something as silly as Londo's bruised pride. But some impulse made her reach out and, just briefly, press her lips against his cheek. Londo had to bend over to let her reach him, but he did so without protest. His skin smelled like expensive soap and cologne and somewhere behind all of that, almost too faint to make out, the cold, sour sweat of fear.

"I have to go," she said. "I will see you tomorrow." She didn't know why it took such effort to turn away.

She could feel Londo's eyes on her all the way towards the carriage. Her eyes stung suspiciously – from the smoke, no doubt. Still, she made sure to keep her head upright and her spine straight until she'd climbed inside.


	3. G'Kar (2262)

**III. G'Kar**

What was life, if not an exercise in letting go? It was a truth G'Kar had known for many years, but the full weight of it had never hit him the way it had over the past few days. He thought he had made peace with the prospect of leaving – not simply the life he had built here on Babylon 5, but his life on Narn and everything else that was familiar. What he'd told Lyta wasn't a lie: he _was_ looking forward to the adventure. But every so often the tidal wave of loss would come crashing down, and it was all he could do to not to lose himself.

He had planned to walk through the station one last time, to visit the places he most wanted to remember. But after the disaster in the Zocalo, the foolishness of that had become painfully clear. Instead he remained in his quarters, whiling away the hours by packing his belongings. With luck, the ship he'd purchased would arrive tonight. After it did, he and Lyta could leave within a day. G'Kar still wasn't entirely sure whether to long for that moment or to dread it.

When the door chimed, he was cleaning out his bookcase, leafing through the pages of something Mister Garibaldi had given him – an antique copy of an Earth novel called _Robinson Crusoe_. G'Kar carefully placed the book in the right container before answering. "Yes?"

"It's Vir. Vir Cotto", a voice called. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Can I –"

Smiling, G'Kar pressed the lock. Leave it to Cotto to worry about interrupting someone who had been stuck inside his quarters for days. The door slid open on a hassled-looking Vir, who was struggling with two glass tumblers and a bottle tucked precariously under his arm.

"G'Kar. Hello," he said, straightening. "I, ah – there's something of a mob outside, did you know?"

"There was, yes," G'Kar said, and frowned. "At least until Captain Lochley posted guards. If they have left, I should probably– "

"Oh, no, the guards are still here," Vir said. "Outside your quarters, that is. The mob is at the entrance to Green sector now. They're still very… enthusiastic. Not that that's... Well, I got through eventually, and I needed to get new buttons for this coat anyway, so…"

G'Kar grimaced, resisting the impulse to rub his temples. _Dear G'Quan. Will this madness never stop? _"Please forgive my people," he said. "My presence here seems to have stripped them of all rationality; I can only hope they will regain their collective heads once I am gone. How can I help you, Mister Cott–" He corrected himself. "–Ambassador?" For himself, titles might not matter anymore, but to the young they often did. Even though in Vir's case he wasn't sure –

"Just Vir. Please," Vir said, finishing the thought for him. "I heard you'd be leaving tomorrow, and we didn't really get a chance to talk before, so… I brought this." He offered the bottle to G'Kar. Brivari. Of course. "It's one of Londo's. He was always telling me that as an ambassador I should learn to hold my liquor, so I thought…"

G'Kar mustered a smile. He'd been trying to take his mind off Londo Mollari ever since his return to the station, with little success. It seemed Vir was having a similar experience. Perhaps they could distract each other. "Please, sit," he said. "I haven't left these quarters for the past forty-eight hours, so I would enjoy the company. As for enjoying the brivari, we will have to see. You've brought glasses?"

"Ah. Yes. Yes, I did," Vir said, lowering himself onto a chair. "There's something else. Something… Londo would have wanted you to have, I think." He put down one of the tumblers in front of him and held out the other one to G'Kar.

G'Kar turned the glass around in his hands. It was small and squat and unimaginative; not crystal or even fine glass, but the same synthetic material all mass-produced glasses on the station were made of. It also held a label, printed on the side. "This is from…"

"The Zocalo. I know," Vir said nervously. "That's what I told Londo after I tried to return it. He still yelled at me until his voice had gone, though, and then some." Now it was Vir's turn to smile, but there was a sadness behind it that made G'Kar's head throb in sympathy. "He said you'd shared your first drink with him out of that glass. He tipped the bartender very generously for it, too. He'll hardly have use for it on Centauri Prime, so I suppose… it's yours now."

G'Kar had thought himself quite adept at masking emotion. But this time it must have been plain on his face, because Vir looked down and busied himself pouring the drinks – a generous swig for G'Kar and a more modest amount for himself. Then he held up his glass. After a moment, G'Kar did the same with his.

Vir cleared his throat. "To beginnings," he said.

G'Kar nodded. "To beginnings." The brivari seared his throat, but he drank deeply until some of its warmth had seeped into his stomach, easing the knot that had lodged there. The taste was fine, but the potency took him by surprise. He coughed, hissing when his ribs protested.

Vir shot him a concerned glance. "You were injured on Centauri Prime, weren't you? Londo told me." He had to stifle a cough as well. "I hope it's healing all right. Cracked ribs can be nasty, I know. Not that I…" He trailed off, taking a hurried sip of brivari to cover his lapse. Of course, they both knew it was G'Kar's Dust-induced madness that had left Vir with a broken rib of his own.

"Thank you", G'Kar said. "It's healing fine." What else was there to say? He could hardly tell Vir that whenever his chest twinged – which it still did at the slightest effort – he would think of Mollari in those white, ridiculous robes and feel as if he might never breathe again. That thought was too grotesque even for himself to contemplate, let alone to share it with Vir. "It helps that one can hardly exert oneself while stuck in one's quarters," he added dryly.

Vir looked up from his drink. "I'm sorry you have to spend your last days on the station like this. Are your people really that upset that you don't want to rule Narn?"

"They are… disappointed," G'Kar said. "It seems somehow they have grown convinced I possess the answers to all of their questions. Now that I have told them they will have to find their own answers, they feel rejected. I cannot blame them for that, but neither can I let it influence my decision."

"The man who tried to kill you…" Vir fingered his glass nervously. "He said you betrayed your people."

"Some of them believe I owe it to them to do whatever they ask," G'Kar said, taking another long gulp of brivari. No matter how often he had constructed this argument in his own head, it still took an effort not to feel like he _was _failing his people. Instinct cut so much deeper than wisdom, even now. "Even if what they ask is not nearly the same as what they need. Or what _I _need. I must do what I feel is right, not only for my people but for myself."

"I wish…" Vir swallowed. "I wish Londo had done that. Thought about himself." G'Kar looked up, startled. "I – I know what you're thinking," Vir hurried on, "and you're probably right. Londo doesn't have much of a history of selflessness, but… when it comes to Centauri Prime, it's different. At the end, I don't really think he wanted the throne anymore, but he accepted it anyway. He never even _considered _the alternative, because…" His breath caught.

"Because, in his mind, there was none," G'Kar said.

"Yes." Vir blinked. "I – _Yes_. How –"

"I was with him on Centauri Prime. If I ever had any doubt concerning Mollari's devotion to your people, it was stripped from me there. But you are right: we are not the same person, he and I. I was raised to question the world I grew up in, to fight for a better future. Mollari was taught to hold on to the past and to do his duty, and never to question how misguided that duty might be."

"He did question it," Vir said softly. "He did, he just… He couldn't…"

"He couldn't say no," G'Kar said. "And he couldn't break with tradition. So he accepted a gilded cage for the sake of his people, just as I am leaving the known universe for the sake of my own. Each in our own way, we believe we are doing what we must, yet the outcomes couldn't be more different. Tell me, Vir, how ironic can life be?"

"Very," Vir sighed, rubbing his eyes as if they were hurting him. "About as ironic as the two of us toasting with Londo's brivari, I suppose." A weak smile. "Is it any good, you think? The brivari?"

"It is… rather good," G'Kar admitted. "Stronger than I remember, although I'm not complaining. Do you like it?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I think I'm getting a little queasy," Vir said. "That's okay, though. Londo said it should pass if I just keep on drinking." G'Kar watched him suppress a shiver and, very consciously, compose himself. "I need to ask you something else. I spoke to Londo just before we left Centauri Prime. He was trying to warn me, I think... but for some reason he couldn't. He told me to talk to you instead."

G'Kar nodded; he'd wondered when the question would come. "I had the same impression when I last saw him," he said. "He told me his behavior might change in the years to come, but not by his own choice. And we witnessed disturbing things on your world; things that even Mollari admitted frightened him." He told Vir all that he could, from Lord Jarno's murder to the Regent's apparent madness and the failed attempt on Londo's life. The longer they talked, the more Vir's shoulders sagged. There were so many questions, but no answers G'Kar could give.

Afterwards, Vir poured himself another inch of brivari and sat nursing it silently, staring into space. G'Kar refused the offer of another glass. If his head had been throbbing before, it was close to splitting now, and he needed his wits about him if he wanted to be of any use to Vir.

"If Londo was afraid..." Vir said thickly. "If _Londo _was afraid, how could _I _ever –" He started to get up from his chair, wobbled and abruptly sat down again. G'Kar resolved not to let him have another glass; he didn't know Vir Cotto's tolerance for alcohol, but something told him the boy was in for an unpleasant morning. "Did Londo…" Vir winced. "Has he ever told you about Lady Morella's prophecy?"

G'Kar rubbed his forehead. He and Londo had had many discussions about prophecies, all of them ending in stalemate. G'Kar had never been inclined to believe in Centauri prophecy; for all his efforts, some prejudices were still hard to overcome. "If he did," he told Vir, "I fear I don't remember. Mollari and I did not always see eye to eye about the subject."

"I see," Vir said. The disappointment in his voice was palpable, but he shouldered through regardless. "She said… I would be emperor, after Londo died. I don't know if I should believe it – I don't even know if it would be a good thing to believe it – but what if it's true? Londo thinks it is, and you know Londo can be very… persistent." He gave a short, hoarse laugh. "Then again, Londo has many years ahead of him. I'm sure he'll live to be a hundred and fifty, so I don't have to worry just yet, but…"

G'Kar closed his eyes. He couldn't tell Vir about the dream – Londo's dream, the dream G'Kar had plucked from his mind that day when the Dust had raged inside him. The dream where they squeezed the life out of each other. It would be wrong to place that burden on Vir. Then again, Centauri dreams were as fanciful as the Centauri themselves, so perhaps this was just a figment of Londo's imagination… except G'Kar didn't truly believe that. Not in this case. He didn't know how, but he could feel the truth of it in his bones. One day, he would return to Centauri Prime to die. And Londo would die with him.

"I'm afraid, G'Kar," Vir whispered. A shiver traced its path down G'Kar's spine. "I wish I wasn't, but I am. Don't you ever get afraid?"

"Oh, I do," G'Kar said. _More than you may ever know_. Not of death, but of waste, loss, futility; of making the wrong choices and not being able to undo them. In that sense, Vir was not that different from him. "But when you feel like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, it may help to remember this: our shoulders were made to bear burdens. I suspect you'll find yours can carry much more than you believe."

For once, Vir was almost smiling. "It doesn't feel that way right now… but I'll try to remember that."

"We will meet again, Vir Cotto," G'Kar said. "Until that time, I am sure you will do a fine job here at Babylon 5. Be healthy. Be happy. Be strong." He held out his hand and Vir stood, with some effort, as if to shake it. G'Kar was not truly surprised when Vir embraced him instead.


	4. Vir (2262)

**IV. Vir**

When they offered him Londo's old quarters, he laughed.

He felt terrible later, of course. Captain Lochley meant well, and she was trying so hard to make him feel appreciated. It wasn't even that he thought about Londo that much; with all the work he had on the station, most of the days Vir barely had _time _to think. But the thought of those huge, silent quarters, still filled to bursting with Londo's old stuff… It was a scary thought, and not funny at all. Which is why he shouldn't have been too surprised to find his throat closing up or his eyes burning – except that he was, he was mortified, and the only thing that kept him from crying in front of the whole command staff was to burst out laughing instead.

Afterwards, he realized just who he'd learned that strategy from. Londo had used it all the time: in the face of despair, laugh and be merry, or at least pretend you were.

Not that things were going that badly. His first week had been the hardest: Centauri Prime might have withdrawn from the Alliance, but Babylon 5 was still teeming with Centauri traders, impatient to get on with their lives. Vir had spent a frantic few days hammering out an agreement that ensured their protection. Even with the war over, there were still plenty of grudges to go around. As inexperienced as he was, so were the new ambassadors to Narn and Minbar, and Vir was rather proud of the deal he'd struck. Ta'Lon was a quick study, though. As for the new Minbari representative Leninn, Vir had little doubt she'd learn soon enough.

In the end he did move to Londo's quarters, if only to keep someone else from claiming them instead. Besides, Ta'Lon got G'Kar's quarters, and Leninn got Lennier's, so there was a certain symmetry to it. And it gave him something to do with his sparse free time. Sorting out Londo's things might not be the most exciting of hobbies, but it helped get his mind off politics for a while.

He still couldn't get used to the evenings. As much as he had thought he'd enjoy the quiet, Vir missed Londo's chatter, just like he missed taking care of someone other than himself. It would help if he'd actually manage to sleep, but the more tired he was, the more tricky that got. These days he was lucky to catch a few hours at best. Of course, Londo had a cure for sleepless nights: visit the Zocalo, perhaps ply his charms on a lady or two. Vir didn't think that would work for him, but he was beginning to understand why Londo did it. Anything better than staring at the ceiling and replaying the day's negotiations in your head.

The one other person he missed as much as Londo was Lennier. Lennier, with his soft words and quiet strength, who'd been struggling so hard to find himself – and who had now vanished from the face of the universe, it seemed. Vir kept telling himself not to worry, but he couldn't help it. All he knew was that Lennier had escorted Delenn and Sheridan to Minbar, and after that, nothing. Vir had tried to contact him through the Rangers, to no avail. He'd even called Delenn directly, but all she could tell him was that Lennier had left and she didn't know where he was. There had been something in her face that told Vir not to press. That was six weeks ago, and there had been no news since.

The call came through in the early morning. Vir had returned around midnight after the umpteenth dispute over shipping taxes – which, plain and simple, the Centauri could no longer afford – with his nerves worn thin to the point of snapping. It would have been a joke to try to sleep. Instead he'd forced himself to finish the Brakiri children's novel he'd been reading to brush op un the language. It was rather silly, but silly was good. Silly was soothing. Still, it was several hours before he felt calm enough to go to bed.

When the comm system chimed, it took him a moment to find his bearings. He staggered out of bed, clumsy with fatigue; one look in the mirror made him abandon any thought of making himself presentable. Ah, well. There were few enough people who would call him in the middle of the station's night, and most of them had seen him looking worse before. Vir settled for putting on a nightgown and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then he pulled up a chair and activated the terminal.

The face on the screen was the last one he'd expected.

"Lennier!" he said – shouted, was more like it. His voice was too raw, too loud, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Lennier was safe, alive and well and… Was he?

"Vir." Lennier inclined his head. Only then did Vir realize how haggard he looked – not just solemn, but ill. There was a dark blotch beneath his headbone that looked suspiciously like a bruise, and the skin fit so tightly across his cheeks that it seemed like it could crack at any moment. He seemed to be calling from some kind of trading post: in the background, laborers were bickering and shouting at each other as they hauled crates of goods across the floor.

"Lennier, where have you been?" Vir breathed. His hands were sweating; he resisted the temptation to wipe them on his sleeves. "No one could tell me where you'd gone, and I didn't know... I was worried."

"I know," Lennier said, not meeting Vir's eyes. "When I learned you had tried to contact me, first on Minbar and later through the Anla'Shok… I could not remain silent. I have done enough harm already. I could not bear to hurt you as well, so I wanted to let you know I am alive, and safe for now."

"Safe," Vir repeated, dully. "But not… well. Are you? Done harm, you said, what… _How_?"

"I had resolved not to tell you. I did not want anyone to know, but… You have a kind soul, Vir, and you have always been understanding of others. Perhaps, if I tell you, you would not judge me too harshly. Even though I am sure I deserve all the harshness anyone would wish to direct at me, and more."

"You can tell me," Vir insisted. "I promise, whatever it is, I won't think any less of you."

"I would not be so certain," Lennier said. He looked paler than before, if that was even possible. "Even you cannot be so forgiving, Vir. You see, while we were on route to Minbar… I attempted to take President Sheridan's life."

"_What? _I – I'm sorry, I didn't –" Vir sputtered, then cut himself off. He forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing. Keeping his voice steady was as hard as anything he'd ever done. "Lennier, surely whatever you did, that's not what it was. I'm not saying I don't believe you, but… Please, just tell me what happened and we'll talk it through, all right? I know we can."

Lennier's jaw tightened. "It's true I was not responsible for the precipitating event. But failure to prevent a thing is no more forgivable than acting to achieve it."

The knot in Vir's stomach eased fractionally. If Lennier was saying what he seemed to be saying, then maybe it wasn't all lost. Maybe they could still get through this. "So, what you're saying is President Sheridan almost got killed… and you left Minbar because you failed to help him?" Vir only hoped he was phrasing it gently enough.

"No. What I am saying is I left Minbar, and the Anla'Shok, because I _refused_ to help him." Lennier swallowed, and for a moment Vir saw the young novitiate he had known all those years ago, so eager to serve and to prove himself. Then the mask snapped back into place. "There was a coolant leak. Sheridan, along with a member of the crew, was trapped when the room sealed itself. I only needed to press the lock to free them, but for a moment my heart betrayed me. I turned around and… fled. I went back for him moments later, after I realized what I had done, but he had already freed himself."

Vir felt dizzy. Of course he knew about Lennier's feelings for Delenn, but he'd never thought it would come to this. _Oh, Lennier, how could you? _To love someone, then try to take from them the person they cared about the most… Vir couldn't wrap his mind around that even if he tried. Vaguely, he was aware of his mouth opening and closing, but he couldn't get any words out.

"You are repulsed by me," Lennier said. Then, softly, "I cannot blame you."

"No, I'm – _no_. I could never be repulsed by you, never!" Vir blurted. Great Maker, he should have slept, why hadn't he slept, he was barely keeping his thoughts together. A single wrong word and Lennier might sever the connection, and Vir would never see him again. He tried again, keeping his tone as neutral as he could with his hearts pounding in his throat. "I'm… shocked by what you did. Disappointed. I think anyone would be. And I know how I used to think some things were unforgivable, but after five years on Babylon 5... Well, I think everything can be forgiven, as long as there's remorse." Vir had no idea if he was even making sense, but at least Lennier was listening. Good, that was good. "You said you went back for Sheridan, didn't you?"

"Yes. But he does not know," Lennier said. "Even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. Whether for a lifetime or for a moment, I wished Delenn's husband dead. I am not worthy of her respect, much less her love."

"I was there when Londo was conspiring to the destruction of Narn," Vir said. "He did terrible things, but it didn't make me stop caring about him. It never did." He stared hard into the viewscreen, willing Lennier to return his look. "Delenn knows you. She'll find it in her heart to forgive you, too."

"Perhaps." Lennier's voice was a whisper. "But I must learn to forgive myself first. That is why I must leave, Vir. And why you cannot tell anyone we spoke today."

Vir swallowed, sadness tightening his throat. "Where will you go?"

"I do not know. I cannot return to Minbar. And I have betrayed the Anla'Shok as surely as I have Delenn. To Earth, perhaps. Or wherever the fates take me." The image flickered; Lennier gestured to someone off-screen. "I must go, Vir. Please do not worry about me. As you see, I hardly deserve it."

Vir shook his head, groping for something to say. He thought about G'Kar, who'd chosen to leave rather than widen the rift with his people. As for himself, he'd never felt at home either here or on Centauri Prime. Gods, what was it with all of them that made it so hard to fit in anywhere? And was it just them, or what Babylon 5 had turned them into?

He supposed he'd never know, but right now it wasn't important. What was important was Lennier, and that this didn't become the last conversation between them. "Promise me one thing," Vir said, clenching his hands in his lap. "If there's ever a time when you feel there are no options left, I want you to promise… you'll find me. Please."

A flicker of emotion passed over Lennier's face. "I… promise," he said, after a moment. "You've been a good friend, Vir. Be well."

Vir opened his mouth to answer, but the screen winked out before he could reply.

He didn't know how long he sat in front of the screen, seeing nothing except Lennier's face on the back of his eyelids. He understood Delenn's reaction now. Part of him wanted nothing more than to contact her again, reassure her that Lennier was alive. But he'd made a promise. Still, for a moment, he actually found himself reaching out to the terminal… but no. He couldn't. Unsteadily, he shut off the screen and stumbled back to bed – not because he had any real hope he would sleep, but because he was too exhausted not to try.

Impossibly, he drifted off the moment his head hit the pillow.

He couldn't breathe. That was the first thought that went through his mind. He couldn't breathe, and there was smoke everywhere, thick, cloying tendrils seeping into his lungs. His footsteps thumped against the floor as he pushed his way past silk curtains and through gold-studded doors. The Imperial Palace was in flames. Vir didn't know how, or what he was doing there, but one thought drifted to the front of his mind. _Londo. _He staggered on, coughing, fire snagging at his coat.

At the end of the corridor, where the flames were thickest, he saw it: a flutter of robes, vanishing into the throne room. He tried to shout, but the roar of fire swallowed his voice, and all he could feel was the blistering heat of the flames as he burst through the door.

He collided with a heavy object in his path. Not the throne, as he'd thought, but what looked like a ship's console. Beside it was another console, and a third, all crackling and hissing under his touch. Vir collapsed against one of them, running his fingers across the florid script on the screen. Not Centauri, but… Minbari? A Minbari ship? In a flash, he knew why he was here.

_"Lennier!"_ he called out, and then _"Londo!"_ again, because the robes he had seen before had not been grey, but white. They were here, both of them. There was still time to get them out.

He blinked to clear his eyes and, just like that, he was in the throne throne room again. And – oh, god – Londo was on his knees on the dais, wreathed in flame. He wasn't even struggling, which was bad, _bad_, but before Vir could react, the throne room vanished and he was back on the ship. Now Lennier was diving for one of the consoles, the one Vir had just left, hands flying frantically over the panel, the flesh searing off them as Vir looked on, horrified.

"Lennier!" Vir screamed again. "Take my hand! I can save us – _Londo_!" He whipped his head around. "Londo, get up, get up, please, I can –" He tried to reach out, tried to move, but he couldn't, his legs wouldn't obey him, he was stuck between worlds with no way to reach either of them and _no, no, please – _

Lennier never looked up from the screen. But Londo raised his chin, and for a moment, Vir could swear he was smiling. Then the flames rushed up and swallowed them both.

Vir woke choking on a scream, bedsheets tangled around him. He scrambled out from under them, sucking in breath after shuddery breath until his head stopped spinning. _Gods, not this. Not again._ He had thought his dreams about Cartagia had been painful, but this was worse. He remembered Londo, the nights he used to wake up shouting and only a large glass of brivari – sometimes two – would help. At times, Vir felt like he was becoming more like Londo every day.

He tried to lie back down, but that only made him feel dizzy again; the dream kept swirling around in his head. And now he was worried about Londo again, which was the last thing he needed, really. In an impulse, he padded back to the comm screen and dialed Londo's private code. The screen remained blank. _Again._ Vir hadn't spoken to Londo in over a month now, so he could hardly be surprised. At least during the first few weeks someone had answered, even if it was just an aide telling him the Emperor was unavailable, or, a few times, indisposed – which had done nothing to improve Vir's spirits. Lately, though, there had been no answer at all.

Vir shivered in his nightgown. Of course, if Londo was here, he'd be tutting and telling Vir not to fret, and then sending him to the kitchen for hot jaala to settle his nerves. But Londo wasn't here, and there was no use wishing he was. Besides, it was almost morning. What was it that ancient Earth writer had said, the one Mister Allan recommended he try? _You can only come to the morning through the shadows._ Vir stood and straightened his shoulders. He was just going to have to believe that was true.


	5. Timov (2263)

**V. Timov**

There were more dignified pursuits than sneaking into one's own house at night, but that couldn't be helped. Her dignity was hardly what mattered here. That much was clear when Timov stepped through the heavy wrought-iron gate – one of House Mollari's many heirlooms and as presumptuous as most of its members – and absorbed the scene before her. It was a good thing she'd come quietly. The Royal Court had eyes and ears everywhere. Not that there was anything illegal about her being here, but her life outside the palace walls was no one's business except her own. And perhaps Londo's, but even that wasn't a given.

Lysandra had sounded upset on the comm line. Not panicked; the girl had Urza's temperament, and Timov had never seen her panic before. But like her older brother, she had an impulsive streak that tended to get her into trouble, and she _had _sounded slightly in over her head. No wonder, Timov marveled. What had the girl been _thinking_?

She could feel every eye on her as she crossed the courtyard, heels clicking painfully loud against the stones. Lysandra came running just when she reached the front stairs.

"Timov!" Lysa skidded to a stop, braid swinging. Timov took in the state of her: disheveled, gown spotted with stains which might have been mere grease, or something far less appetizing and more alarming. "I'm so glad you came. I should have told you before, but you were at the palace and I just… I was afraid you'd say no. I had to do this, Timov. Please don't be angry."

"With 'this', I take it you mean turning our home into a… How would you even call this? A barracks? A free-for-all?" That was harsh, but harshness was often the best way to deal with Lysandra. With her twenty-one seasons she was hardly a child, but still prone to whimsy, and whimsy was the last thing Timov needed right now.

"A shelter," Lysa said. She gestured at the people scattered across the courtyard, some curled up on blankets, some huddled together under crude woven tents. "They all lost their homes in the Alliance attack. We're supposed to be rebuilding, but have you seen that happen yet? I haven't, and it's been months now."

"It has," Timov admitted. "Londo's ministers have turned prevarication into a fine art, I'm afraid, no matter how hard he tries to intimidate them. As long as their own incomes are secure, they don't care where the rest of the money goes. And we owe the Alliance a great deal of money, that much I know. But politics are always distasteful. You still haven't explained to me how all of these people came to be _here._"

Lysa clenched a hand into the fabric of her skirt, but she held Timov's look without flinching. "It was only Indra at first. She's an old family friend. We used to be close when I was little, but I hadn't seen her in ages… until she turned up on the doorstep. Her house was flattened in the attack. She and her son barely escaped with their lives. They'd been living on the streets all that time, and her husband was – _is _– still missing. We've got a cellarful of food and water, so of course I took them in. It was only going to be for a few days, until we'd found them a different place to stay, but… well, there _isn't_ any. The hospitals are a ruin, even the shrines and the libraries are gone. There's nowhere at all. There hasn't been since the bombing."

"Then I assume word of your generosity got around?" Timov said. "I count more than two people here, and I'm taking it there are others inside."

"The healthiest ones sleep in the courtyard," Lysa said. "It's only early autumn, so the nights are warm enough… for now. The sick and injured are in the house."

"How long has this been going on?" Timov pressed. For _her,_ of all people, to be preaching against rashness was almost too surreal to bear. She'd always been the rash one, the one who missed no opportunity to put Londo on the spot. Rashness had been her weapon, and she'd worn it as proudly as her husband had ever worn a blade. But things had changed, and she'd learned since then that restraint had its uses. As did playing by the rules.

"Indra arrived three weeks ago," Lysa muttered. "Like I said, I… I should have told you before."

Three weeks, Timov thought. Had it really been that long since her last visit? Not half a season gone by, and she was letting the palace walls confine her already. She couldn't let that happen. As much as she believed Londo needed her, she was needed here too. "The children?" she asked, meaning Mila and her two older brothers. They'd last spoken on the comm, but even that was over a week ago.

"They're fine," Lysa said. "They're in bed now. They've been helping me as much as they could, but it's hard, Timov, that's why I called you. I can't keep doing this on my own. People keep coming in, some of them sick or hurt, but I'm not a doctor. I'm hardly even a _cook. _I can keep them from starving, for now, but…" Unexpectedly, she stepped forward and caught Timov's hand. "I should have told you from the start, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I broke your trust by taking strangers into your home."

_But you're not sorry you took them in in the first place, _Timov thought. Good. It meant this might not turn out a total disaster after all.

"It isn't my home," she said, surprising herself with the harshness of her tone. "I don't think it was ever Londo's either. It's a house, nothing more. A house, and supplies, and money. And you're right: that's a great deal more than many others have right now." Her decision was made. She supposed it had been the moment she came through that gate. "Show me," she said, and squeezed Lysa's hand.

Lysa showed her around the house, past groups of rowdy children and wide-eyed adults, some with injuries that made Timov's teeth ache. The families in the courtyard seemed better off, but even they were underfed and filthy. They all looked shell-shocked. Timov wasn't surprised. She could say many things about the Great Centauri Republic, starting with the fact it hardly excelled at greatness these days – if it ever had, which she doubted. Not that Londo would agree. But one thing they had been for a long time was wealthy: there hadn't been poverty among the general population in centuries. None of these people had ever needed to fend for themselves.

Well, that would have to change. The prosperous years were over, and nothing would ever be accomplished by sitting around waiting.

"Lysa, you know as well as I do we cannot keep this up," Timov said, pulling the girl aside in an empty corner of the courtyard. "Not like this. You've been doing a fine job, but it's not going to be enough. Not if more people keep coming in. This family has to pay taxes just like everyone else, and you know how it is: as long as the reparations to the Alliance haven't been paid, those taxes will be stifling for anyone with a scrap of wealth left. We are not going to have much room to maneuver. So we will need volunteers: nurses and doctors and cooks. And we will need purses, other than our own."

"How about Lon – the Emperor?" Lysa said. "Can't he do something? Even if there isn't enough money for the rebuilding effort, I'm sure there are provisions in the palace, doctors, medicine, …"

That was a fair question, and Timov _had_ considered it. Asking Londo for help seemed obvious, but she didn't know if it would be wise. Ever since his coronation, he'd been acting strangely; it was one of the reasons why she'd been loath to leave the palace. He'd taken to drinking again – though not for pleasure, as she'd known him to do in the past. She knew few people who held their liquor as well as Londo, and yet several times now she had entered his chambers and found him too drunk to even stay on his feet. Even his health seemed weaker, and as talkative as he'd become earlier, so secretive did he seem now. Timov wouldn't have minded if he'd had matters in hand. But all her sources told her otherwise. Already his Ministers and the Centaurum were plotting behind his back, strengthening their own positions while Londo seemed powerless. When Timov had confronted him about it, all he'd said was he was doing her a favor by not involving her in politics. He'd said it with a grin, but it had been a dismissal nonetheless.

Distracted, Timov checked the time. Almost midnight. She would have to go, and soon, or they'd start looking for her. "We'll see about the Emperor," she said, as neutrally as she could. "But I'll find you other help. There are still some people in this city who aren't frightened of dirtying their hands. I can help you organize this, get you the resources you need, but the rest will be up to you. If you still want to."

"Oh, I do!" Lysa exclaimed, flinging herself into Timov's arms. "Thank you, lady Timov! I promise I won't disappoint you."

Touched, Timov returned the embrace. "Leave off the 'lady', please. I must tolerate the title often enough at court. Now, I wish I could stay the night, but I can't. Londo will wonder where I am, or if not him, then someone else who has even less business knowing." Letting go, she stroked the girl's cheek with an affection she didn't often permit herself.

"I understand," Lysa said, and then, "Oh! There's something else. Vir Cotto called – it was such a chaos here that I forgot. He said he'd been trying to reach the Emperor for weeks. I told him you'd moved to the palace, which reassured him a little. He was still very worried, though. And I thought he seemed… sad. Lonely, maybe. You really should contact him. He seemed like such a kind person when he visited; I would hate to see him unhappy." She smiled and gave Timov's hand a last squeeze. "Now go. Be careful. I'll see you soon."

As she walked out the gate, Timov couldn't suppress a smile of her own. She still remembered how giddy Vir had been around Lysa, those few times when he'd visited the house. Of course Londo, with his raucous japes and less-than-subtle hints, had been no help at all. But it wasn't hard to see that Vir had liked the girl. As for Lysa's remark about Vir looking lonely...

And now she was being ridiculous. Lysa had never expressed interest in any relationship, and Timov had no intention to force her. Not with Vir, or anyone else.

Still, the issue would have to be broached one day. She and Londo wouldn't live forever. And Lysa had the children to care for, children who weren't even hers but Urza's. Timov hated herself for even thinking it, but life on Centauri Prime was hard on a single woman; it had been even in prosperous times, and things weren't likely to improve. No doubt Lysandra realized that too. They all knew what would have happened if Londo hadn't taken her in: for a highborn lady, there weren't many ways to bring money on the table. In fact Timov was only aware of one, and the thought of Lysa having _that _as her only resort was enough to make her feel queasy. Marriage would be a kinder fate. But it hadn't come to that yet.

It was past midnight when she arrived back at the palace, letting herself in through an unguarded side door. Instead of returning to her quarters, she found herself walking down the long hallway towards Londo's suite. He would be there, but not asleep. It seemed he never slept these days, no matter which time of day or night she went to see him.

In an impulse, she gestured at the guard to let her in unannounced. Her scowl must have been threatening enough, because after a moment he keyed open the door and beckoned her inside.

Londo was at the window, his back turned towards her. He was bracing himself with one hand against the windowsill, a large pitcher of amber liquid beside him. Timov bit her lip. For all his boisterousness in public, Londo was as vulnerable as anyone, and his moods had become increasingly erratic these days. Suddenly she felt guilty for intruding on a private moment. She should have knocked, but it was too late for that now.

She cleared her throat.

Londo spun wildly, drink sloshing from the glass in his hand. "Timov!" he gasped. "Great Maker, I – I thought – do not _ever _sneak up on me again! I could have –"

"Done what, exactly?" Timov said. Something was wrong, but aside from Londo's skittishness, she couldn't put her finger on what. "Are you quite all right?"

"Of course I am all right!" Londo's demeanor changed like a switch had been flipped. "What could possibly be wrong that a little brivari cannot cure, hmm?" His grin flashed, broad and theatrical, but just then the façade slipped and he swayed. He turned back with a jerk, breath hissing through his teeth.

Timov joined him at the window with a few angry strides. "You're drunk," she said sharply. For an irrational moment, she almost felt relieved.

"Drunk?" Londo parried, recovering. "Pah! Not nearly enough to forget that I am surrounded by fools and hypocrites every day of my life! But let us not talk of that. You look tired." He peered at her over his drink. As much as the change of topic irked her, she knew Londo well enough to hear the concern in his voice. For a moment, she considered making up an excuse, but...

No. Forget what she had told Lysa. If she couldn't trust her own husband, what was she even doing here?

To his credit, Londo didn't interrupt while she was talking. It was only afterwards that he dashed her hopes. "Timov, what you ask… " He winced, then seized his glass and took a long swallow. "To give you money for this… _shelter_, while the Alliance is wringing us out for every credit… You know I cannot. The Centaurum would never stand for it, and I –"

"The Centaurum!" Timov bristled. "Since when do you care one whit about what the Centaurum thinks? You're the Emperor. Surely you can –"

"And what would you have me do, Timov?" Londo snapped. "_Hmm?_ Threaten to have their heads as Cartagia did? I am not that kind –" He trailed off and swallowed convulsively. It was a strange enough moment that Timov wondered just how much he had drunk, but he caught himself before she could call him on it. "I am not that kind of emperor yet. Pray I never will be. I will do my best; that is all I can promise you."

Other times she might have argued, but Londo was right: she _was_ tired. The whole affair with Lysa had taken more out of her than she'd thought. Let Londo have a chance to convince the Centaurum; there'd be enough time to argue should it come to that. And there was still the matter of Vir. "Did you know Vir has been trying to reach you?" she asked. "Lysa told me he'd called her at the house. He's been worried sick about you, the poor boy."

"Ah," Londo muttered. "Yes." He set his glass back on the windowsill. "In these times, being associated with the Centauri Emperor is hardly a blessing, so I thought it would be better if I did not speak with him for a while. Perhaps… perhaps I was wrong."

"I would think so!" Timov said, allowing a hint of reproach to creep into her tone. "You know how much he cares about you."

"Rather too much, I think," Londo said, almost under his breath. "But you are right; he ought not to be alone on that wretched station. I will contact him, ask him to visit when he can."

There was something in his tone that cut deeper than it should have, but Timov smiled anyway. "I'd like that. And I expect it might please Lysandra, too."

If Londo caught her meaning, he didn't show it. Instead he groaned and rubbed at his temples. "Great Maker. Lysandra… You know we cannot protect her forever. Bad enough for her to be the Emperor's ward; now she wants to save the world as well? It would be better if she had a family of her own. Less conspicuous, at least."

"Better for her or for you?" Timov retorted. Never mind that she'd wondered the same thing today; it was Londo's business even less than it was hers. "What would you have us do, marry her off to some noble with more brawn than brains? I won't stand for it! She's happy, she loves the house and the children, she's done a wonderful job with the shelter, and…" She trailed off when she felt Londo's eyes on her, twinkling with something that was almost amusement.

"Why, Timov. You surprise me. Do not tell me you have been thinking about this as well?"

"Thinking, yes," she admitted reluctantly. "But not condoning it. Lysa would never forgive us! She needs her independence, not to mention she's stubborn and headstrong and –"

"– reminds you of someone we know, does she not?" For a moment, Londo's arm wavered when he raised his glass. "I have no intention of forcing her, Timov. Not even if she'd been my own child. Believe it or not, I _have _learned something from our marriage." With a weary smile, Londo held out his hand. Timov lifted hers with some apprehension, but he just grasped her fingers ever so lightly. "Though perhaps, in the end… we did not do quite so badly, you and I."

She couldn't say if it was regret or longing in his voice, or neither, or both. But Londo's skin was warm on hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles as if he was afraid to break them. Or break _something_, at least. She was no longer certain nothing would.

"Perhaps not," she said, and squeezed his hand tight.


	6. Londo (2264)

"Oh, this is… _Oh._" Vir's eyes grew huge like saucers as he swallowed a mouthful of _jurbeen_ stew. When he blinked down at his plate, the look on his face was one of pure bliss.

"Well?" Londo pressed - not out of any real impatience, but because watching Vir's face light up like that uprooted his defenses faster than he could rebuild them. It was bad enough with only Timov to consider. When she and Vir were in the palace together, Londo felt even more anxious about letting his guards down. His Keeper was always looking for weakness. "Do not tell me that your time on Babylon 5 made you forget the taste of fresh-smoked _treel_?"

Across the table, Timov's expression turned wary at his forced tone. But if Vir had noticed the same, his – what did the humans call it? – _poker face_ was better than it used to be. "Actually," Vir said, chewing, "I think it did. Centauri food is getting hard to come by on the station, what with more of the traders leaving the business each month." He picked at his food nervously. "Not that it's for me to say those export taxes aren't necessary, but… Londo, they're just too high! I know we have reparation payments to make, but at some point we'll have no traders left and _then _what will happen to the export? If there's any way –"

Scowling, Londo waved Vir into silence. Those were very good points, but he knew the Drakh's answer to them, just like he knew there was nothing to be done. The more weakened the Centauri economy became, the easier for the Drakh to carry out their plans. "The taxes stay, Vir," Londo said, beckoning for more wine. Vir opened his mouth to protest, but Londo shushed him into silence. "No – Vir, I said _no_! Eat your _jurbeen_, and let us hear nothing more of it! Now, when you return to the station, we will make sure you have some proper food with you, hmm? You are not still eating at that dreadful Minbari place – what was it called again?"

"McBari's," Vir muttered. "But it's not really Minbari food, it's human, it's just made to _look _Minbari, and… no, I'm not eating there anymore." He took another spoonful of stew, cheeks flushing. "Just very occasionally. As an Ambassador I try to visit all the restaurants on the station, you know, and I rarely even get sick anymore after eating there, so..."

"Ah, you are getting better at dissemination," Londo said. "Good! Still, you should–"

"Never mind him, Vir!" Timov threw Londo an exasperated look. "My husband always had odd ways to express his affection; you shouldn't hold it against him. Tell me, have you missed anything else on Babylon 5? Something you would like to catch up on while you're here? The two of you hardly need to discuss politics _all_ the time."

"Do I have to pick one thing?" Vir blurted, then bit his lip. "Sorry, I'm sorry, that sounded worse than it is. It's just… it's harder than I expected, sometimes. When I'm here I miss life on Babylon 5, but then once I'm back on the station I already know I'll miss… everything, really." He put down his spoon and worked up a faint smile. "There is something, though. Last month I was listening to Trantaro's collected arias – yes, Londo, I know he can't hold a candle to Dorva, we've been over that – and I thought… Well, I've never seen a real opera before. Not since I was a child, but that was different. I, uh, would very much like to see one, if I could. Maybe before I leave, we can–"

There was no way Londo could brace against the hope in Vir's eyes. "No. We cannot," he said, each syllable wrenching at his heart. "There is no opera, Vir. Not anymore."

"What?" Vir said. "I knew the Royal Opera was destroyed, and the others damaged, but I thought – surely some repairs have been done? It's been– "

"– years! Yes, I am quite aware, Vir," Londo snapped. Somehow, the thought of millions of struggling families had never hit as close to home as the one of having robbed Vir of the experience of a lifetime. The irony was almost too much to bear. "There is no money," he said bitterly. "If there was, we would spend it on more practical endeavors than opera, I would hope, but the sad fact is we do not even have the luxury of choice."

"Don't be so modest, Londo." Timov sipped her wine with a strangely sly smile. "You keep saying resources are scarce, but you've still found ways. Haven't you? I realize, officially, I'm not supposed to know, but surely we can speak freely here?"

There was something in her tone that made Londo swallow back the retort on his lips. _Great Maker, Timov, we cannot speak freely anywhere!_ But Vir was already nodding at her to go on.

"There's a shelter," she told Vir, "here in the capital. Lysandra started it – Urza's sister, I'm sure you remember her." Londo watched her flash Vir a meaningful look. "We have a small network now, and we're trying to coordinate efforts throughout the province. I wasn't supposed to ask where the money came from, but _really,_ Londo." Her eyes didn't lose their twinkle as she directed them at him. "It's your doing, isn't it? You took care of the funding, behind the Centaurum's back."

"Timov, no," Londo pleaded, trepidation turning rapidly into despair. His Keeper was stirring on his shoulder, sparking his nerve endings with tendrils of fury. No doubt it was already in contact with the Drakh, reporting on Londo's treachery. He had been so careful, never discussing the money with Timov, making the arrangements only after consuming copious amounts of alcohol. He'd even managed to block the memories from the Keeper afterwards. It could hear his surface thoughts, yes, but there were certain things it could not read. It had taken him a long time to find out, and more than once he had misjudged and paid the price... But this time he had actually managed to trick it, to siphon away money to support Timov's effort, and a few others as well. A small act of defiance, but there would be punishment. There always was.

"I do appreciate it," Timov was saying, "but why all this stealth? Why not oppose the Centaurum openly?"

"Because they do not need me," Londo said. It took all of his discipline to focus on the question, and not on the Keeper writhing against his skin. "They would replace me with someone far worse, on a whim, if I give them even the slightest excuse." None of that was a lie, even if the _them _didn't refer to what they thought it did. "So I do what I can to appease them, and fight my battles in different ways. Believe me, I–"

_Londo. Attend. _

He felt the words even before he heard them in his mind, shuddering through him like a shiver across his spine. Unsteadily, Londo pushed himself to his feet. "My apologies. There is something I must do before we continue." He saw Timov's eyes narrow, but turned and marched out before his courage could fail him. He knew all too well what would follow.

When he entered his chambers, Shiv'kala was waiting, hovering in the shadows like a pale, scaled wraith. Londo could sense his anger, flooding in through his link with the Keeper – a fierce, searing rage, as white-hot as those thin slits of eyes seemed cold. Londo's hands curled into fists at his side.

"You defied us," Shiv'kala said. His lisping voice betrayed no emotion, but through the link, his displeasure crackled and sparked. "You were told not to assist those in need, or to tolerate any initiatives which did. We need the people's anger to fester, so they remain witless and easy to mold. And yet you have been supporting precisely such an initiative. Do you deny this?"

"No," Londo admitted. Any refusal would only make this harder, not to mention put Timov at risk – the Maker help them if they decided to question _her _as well. "But it is a pitiful operation, no danger at all to your plans." He tried to coat the words in indifference, but his hearts were racing too fast for the Keeper not to notice. And Shiv'kala had always been able to read him too well. "Let Timov have the money, as little as it is. She will be content, and refrain from meddling in affairs that do not concern her."

"She would not meddle if she were dead," Shiv'kala said.

Londo swallowed back bile. There was no way to know if he was merely being baited or the threat was real. He thought of Timov, the way she never looked more alive than on the days she returned from the shelter, exhausted but so full of hope and anger. "If you hurt her," he whispered, "we are at war."

Shiv'kala tilted his head from side to side, as if tasting the air. "And how would you fight this war, I wonder?" His expression remained unfathomable. "Very well. We will allow this 'pitiful operation' to continue… not because you wish it, but because it will amuse us to see her fail."

It was all Londo could do not to sag with relief. Instead he said stiffly, "I give you my gratitude." Would it be this simple? He could barely believe it.

"Do you, I wonder?" Shiv'kala said. "You see, there is still the matter of your… transgression. We will have your respect, in the future. And your obedience."

"You will have it," Londo said, taking a ragged breath. Then Shiv'kala flicked his hand, and he couldn't take another if he tried.

This wasn't real, Londo thought, as the Keeper stabbed its tendrils down. None of it was real. It was not truly his windpipe being squeezed shut, nor did his hearts hold any blame for the searing tightness in his chest. It was the Keeper, taking hold of his nervous system, stripping him of muscle control. It could make him do anything, feel anything the Drakh told it to. And so, even though he couldn't be choking, he _was_, and when his hands came up to clutch and tear uselessly at his throat, that was not the Keeper's doing at all.

Londo staggered, groping for something to take hold of. His lungs felt like they would burst in his ribcage, and the pain in his head made him want to vomit, except he couldn't find the breath. He might have found breath for screaming, but he could not. Vir and Timov were only a room away. Any noise would bring them running. He collided with an armchair and clutched it with both hands, but his legs chose precisely that moment to buckle; he went down with a crash, chair and all. Even then, the Keeper didn't loosen its hold, and Londo fell to hands and knees, retching.

It felt like an eternity before he heard doors slamming from the next room, although it could not have been more than seconds; he was clinging to consciousness by a thread. Vision blurring, he saw Shiv'kala vanish into the shadows.

The door flew open. The Keeper relinquished control a mere heartbeat later, and Londo wanted to cry out, but the first breath he sucked in dissolved in a racking fit of coughing.

"Londo!" Footsteps pounded across the floor, and then someone was kneeling beside him, hands reaching down to support him as his lungs strained frantically to take in air. "Londo, what is it, what's wrong?" That was Vir, sounding terrified. "_Guards!" _Vir shouted, voice shrill. "We need a doctor here! We need –"

Londo's fingers found Vir's sleeve. "No," he managed. "Vir. No doctor. Promise me…" His head was spinning. "No doctor," he muttered again, then doubled over into another spasm of coughing. From somewhere, a different set of footsteps came running, followed by a strangled gasp. With an effort, Londo lifted his head. Timov was standing in the doorway, hand at her mouth, as shocked as he'd ever seen her. Part of him was expecting her to rush in and take charge, but instead she just stood there, frozen. As if, seeing him like this, all her coping strategies had failed her at once. "Timov…" he began, but had to squeeze his eyes shut as the dizziness washed in.

When he opened them again, the floor was cold against his back, and Vir was fumbling at the buttons of his collar. Londo stopped him with a feeble wave of his hand. "Vir," he rasped, "Don't. It's all right." His Keeper might be invisible, and safely hidden under his coat besides, but it was not immaterial. If Vir should feel it on his shoulder, there was no telling what the Drakh would do.

Vir drew back with a jerk. He was looking very pale, and so was Timov, leaning in behind him. "Gods, Londo… You scared us." Vir dragged a hand through his crest, which was sagging dangerously. "We did what you asked, we didn't call a doctor, but… What happened? Did you become unwell? Do you need anything? Has this happened before?"

Londo ignored the barrage of questions, none of which he could answer truthfully. Instead he focused on getting his elbows under him, which proved much harder than it should have been. His throat and chest felt raw, and his stomach was churning with nausea. "Help me up, Vir," he muttered. "Please. I am… rather attached to my dignity. There is very little in being on the floor." For a moment he thought Vir would refuse, but then a hand closed on his wrist.

His legs nearly gave way again as Vir helped him to his feet. For a brief, breathless instant, Londo was convinced they would both go sprawling, but then Timov slipped in under his shoulder. The closeness of her made him feel no less dizzy. But there was a wiry strength in her small frame, and she barely flinched when he clutched at her and Vir both.

"The couch," he muttered, when Vir made to steer him towards his bedchambers. He could barely get the words out without slurring. "I do not need to be put to bed like a child." Vir and Timov exchanged skeptical looks, but they did what he asked. By the time he was sitting down, he was trembling, and the Keeper stirred restlessly on his shoulder. A new wave of nausea swept through him, like a reminder – or a threat. Sweat broke out across his forehead. Then Timov took his arm and said: "Lie down, you stupid man, before you hurt yourself."

"I can't." Londo shook his head. "The others… they mustn't see me like this. If I seem weak, the Centaurum will–"

"– take advantage of it," Timov said, sitting down beside him. "Yes, I know how the Royal court works. But it's just me and Vir here, so don't be foolish! You need rest far more than you need dignity."

_No, I don't, _Londo wanted to say, _my dignity is all I have left, _but he still let Timov push him back into the pillows, and didn't protest when she kneeled to remove his boots. Sleep seemed an absurd, far-fetched delusion, but somehow it swept in before he could say another word.

He woke up once, during the night, to the sound of voices from the side room. "You should rest, lady Timov." Vir's voice trickled through the fog of sleep, low and worried and barely audible. Dazed, Londo struggled to make out the words. "I'll stay with him for a while. How is he?"

"Asleep." Timov's voice sounded oddly subdued. "Snoring, too, I should add, so it doesn't seem like there was any permanent damage." She sniffed, then drew in a breath that, to Londo's utter shock, trailed off into something very like a sob. "I didn't know what to do," she said dully. "I'm so used to watching him prance around the palace, berating everyone in sight, that I didn't… If you hadn't been there…"

"It's all right," Vir said. "He's all right, and there's nothing that says it will happen again. It could have been anything: coincidence, exhaustion…"

"A panic attack?" Timov breathed. "A few years ago, I'd never have dreamt it possible, but I wonder…"

"It happened after we discussed the money," Vir said. "It's possible. That trouble with his heart was stress as well. Gods, Timov, we should help him. If the Centaurum's interference has him this shook up…" Either the conversation stopped there, or Vir was now speaking too softly to hear. Londo fought against sleep for a few minutes longer, but in the end he drifted off again.

The next time he woke, Vir was dozing in an armchair beside him. Londo dug for a handhold among the pillows, struggling to get his muscles to cooperate. They did, though rather less smoothly than he'd hoped.

"Londo!" Vir's chin jerked up. "Are you all right? How are you feeling?"

"Better." Londo took an experimental breath. His throat felt raw and his head was throbbing, but he knew from experience the sensation would pass. This was hardly the first time Shiv'kala had chosen to discipline him, although it _was _the first time someone had seen. That might come back to haunt him yet. "Do not gawk at me, Vir," he said sharply. "I said I am fine!"

Vir could not have looked more appalled if Londo had stood up and struck him. "Londo, you're _not _fine! Do you have any idea how you looked when we found you? I – I thought you were dying. _Timov_ thought you were dying! She told me–"

"Nonsense!" Londo said. "I couldn't catch my breath-"

"You were _choking!_" Vir blurted, shrilly enough that Londo shrunk back. "You were choking," he repeated, in a strangled tone. "I was terrified – what if you'd been alone, if we hadn't been there? You should take better care of yourself. If something would happen to you…"

"Vir –"

"I'm not ready," Vir cut him off. "I'm not ready, Londo, please, don't think I am..."

"Ready?" Londo felt disoriented, as if he was slipping into some strange dream. "I don't understand."

Vir shuddered and sagged back into his chair. "Lady Morella," he said, eyes fixed on the floor. "The prophecy, that I'd become Emperor after… _After_. I know you believe it, you always have. And I just – I'm not ready yet. Please don't ask me to be. I know these are hard times, but you can't stop fighting, you shouldn't. We will help you, just – hold on. Please."

It dawned on him with a sick horror, flooding his throat like acid. _Great Maker. _Vir was afraid Londo was giving up; that he was counting the days until Vir would succeed him as Emperor. Counting the days until he could die. "Vir, no!" He swung his legs down to the floor, wincing as the room tilted. "Whatever you are thinking, it isn't true. I will not deny it brings me comfort to imagine you taking my place one day, but I am _not _giving up. Not yet." Unsteady, he reached out to touch Vir's knee. "As for what happened last night… you mustn't worry, hmm? It will be all right – as long as no one knows. You must promise me that. Can you?"

"Yes," Vir said. "I – I promise." He still looked upset, but some of the panic had gone out of his eyes. That was something. For now, it would have to do.

Shakily, Londo sagged back onto the pillows. "You are still wrong, you know," he muttered under his breath.

Vir swallowed. "Wrong about what?"

"Being ready. You were always more ready than I ever was, Vir. One day you will see it too."


	7. G'Kar (2265)

"Right this way, sir," his Ranger escort said. G'Kar nodded his thanks and, stretching stiff muscles, stepped out onto the landing pad. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight.

Dawn was breaking on Minbar, a million crystalline surfaces reflecting the light; the combined effect was so brilliant G'Kar was forced to shield his eyes. It was spring on this hemisphere, the pilot had told him, but still his breath formed puffs of vapor in the air in front of him. Crisp, fresh air, teeming with life. G'Kar drank it in greedily and, for the first time in months, felt almost like himself again.

Once, he would have called Minbar cold. Not just in temperature but in temperament, the discipline of its people as stark as the crystal spires crowding the horizon. Little about the Narn homeworld had ever been cool or disciplined, even before the Centauri stripped it bare. The heat of its sun had always been amply surpassed by the fire in its people's souls, and every other world had seemed frigid in comparison. But G'Kar knew better now. He had met Delenn and Lennier and the warriors of the Anla'Shok. The Minbari calm of spirit, he had learned, was less the absence of heat than the tempering of it. Not unlike the calm he had found for himself. Or _thought _he had found.

When he left Babylon 5 over three years ago, it had been Lyta's soul which needed mending. G'Kar had wanted to help her more than anything – to save her, like he himself had been saved. Like he had failed to save one Londo Mollari. As long as it had taken him to admit it, that particular failure still gnawed at him. Some nights on his travels he would think of Mollari, sitting on that loathsome throne which had become his penance. The day Mollari accepted the throne was the day he'd asked G'Kar to leave, and up till this day G'Kar wondered what would have happened had he refused. If staying would have made a difference.

But he had left, and only regretted it afterwards. He'd resolved not to let the same thing happen with Lyta: he would stay at her side for as long as he had to. Except Lyta had not asked him to leave. She had left _him_, to join her people in their fight for freedom. There had been nothing G'Kar could do or say to stop her. And yet, when he heard she was killed in a strike against Psi Corps, he had felt as shattered as if he'd killed her himself.

He'd wept like a pouchling when the news reached him. He had wept, and screamed, and damaged a heavy stone jar and two knuckles before he regained a measure of control. That was when he knew the peace in his soul was more fragile than he'd thought. Solitude had its value, but too much of it and the heart grew brittle. He needed a change, a fresh purpose. Most of all, he needed a friend.

"It is good to see you, G'Kar." Delenn joined him on the landing pad, robes fluttering in the breeze. "This is your first time on Minbar, is it not?"

"Quite so," G'Kar said. He gave her the traditional Narn greeting, hands pressed to his chest. "Already I am wondering why I waited so long to visit. In all my years on Narn, I've never seen such a sunrise."

"John told me the same during his first days here." Delenn's smile was warm and genuine. "He claims he used to be an evening person, but here on Minbar, mornings are his favorite part of the day." She pointed at a sleek open-topped vehicle which sat waiting beside the pad. "Come. You must be tired from the journey. We can watch the sunrise together on our way to Tuzanor, and then you can tell me how you have been."

G'Kar had expected a driver, but there was none. Delenn steered them through the city herself, rarely speaking except to point out the landmarks: temples, sculptures, a sprawling terrace garden. Later, she poured them tea in the spacious rooms that were her and Sheridan's living quarters. John was working, she explained, but they would see him when he came home tonight.

"My apologies for arriving ahead of time." G'Kar stirred his tea distractedly. "I was forced to leave Narn sooner than expected." He suppressed a smile as the youngest occupant of the room, three-year-old David Sheridan, bumped into his leg and Delenn scrambled to take hold of him. The child giggled and squirmed in her grip, and something inside G'Kar's chest clenched unexpectedly. He fought it down. "It's quite all right," he told David gravely. "It's difficult to keep one's balance while chasing battle cruisers across the room."

"It is," Delenn conceded, "but the Tenth Fane of Elleya is revered for its wisdom in religious matters, not for its prowess in battle. David does not share that view, I fear."

"How striking," G'Kar said. "You see, the reason I did not stay on my homeworld is that they still insist on revering me as something I have no desire to be. It is a frustrating burden to bear."

"Three years, and they still will not leave you in peace?" Delenn sidestepped his jest easily, but not without a glint of dry humor in her eyes. He had missed her, G'Kar realized. Her strength, her wisdom, that utter lack of pretense which he had never quite found in anyone else – apart from Na'Toth, perhaps, whose honesty was of a more brazen kind altogether. But Na'Toth was back home on Narn, and after his recent experience there, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

"One month, three years, there appears to be no difference." G'Kar steepled his hands with a sigh. "I went to see Na'Toth at her family home. I believed no one would have the impertinence to disturb us there, but it seems my followers are as zealous as ever. In the end, I left as much for the sake of Na'Toth's privacy as for my own." He drank deeply of his tea, which was hot enough to scald. The heat was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in his mind. "I suppose it is time to face the truth. One day there may be a place for me again on my homeworld, but that day is not likely to arrive soon. If ever."

"I'm sorry." Delenn pulled David against her, stroking his hair. For once, the boy submitted without protest. "Things must have been difficult after your return. I heard Lyta was killed in the Telepath War..."

"She chose her own fate." G'Kar cradled his teacup in both hands. The fragrance was clean and spicy, like humid soil after a rainstorm. He couldn't remember when he had last watched a rainstorm on Narn, but rain was common enough on Minbar, he knew. "I have tried to find comfort in that knowledge, but I…" He faltered. Even now, the thought of Lyta was an open wound, aching and raw. "I fought for her with every fiber of my being. I talked to her, worked with her, pleaded with her to find another way, a way that would not end with her drowning her rage in rivers of blood. But I underestimated her anger… and her stubbornness. Her powers changed her, Delenn, more than I had thought. Perhaps it was a losing battle from the start, who can say, or perhaps I tried too hard to turn her into something she was not. I believed I could sway her with words, but I was wrong. I still wish I had fought harder." His chest tightened; it was all he could do just to breathe.

Delenn reached out, brushing his sleeve with her fingertips. "If I were Lyta," she said softly, "there is no one I would have rather had fighting for my soul than you, G'Kar. No one would doubt you did all you could for her. And Lyta got her wish. The Psi Corps has been disbanded, and steps are being taken to reintegrate telepaths into society. But the price…"

"… was too high." G'Kar nodded. When he met Delenn's eyes, they were as bright as the morning sky, and filled with the same emotion he knew was burning in his own. "We would know about prices, you and I."

"It is said…" Delenn began, then hesitated. She let go of David, gazing after him as he darted away. "It is said one of those who joined Lyta, who lost their lives during the last days of the war… was Lennier." Her eyes were still averted. "Do you think… Is there any way it could be true?"

"All I heard were rumors, and vague ones at that." G'Kar made no attempt to hide the effort in his own voice. He'd wondered about Lennier too, but he had been afraid to ask Delenn, afraid to risk opening unhealed wounds. He did not dare to guess what had come between her and her one-time aide, but it was clear that _something_ had. "I know Lennier was in a dark place after leaving the Anla'Shok. Lyta told me as much. But I never knew why he left, or what led him to join the telepath cause. I never asked Lyta, and once she returned to Earth, that was the last I heard of both of them."

"I see." Delenn grasped her own teacup, and for a moment she looked as vulnerable as G'Kar had ever seen her.

"Delenn," he began. "If there is some way I can help, any way at all..."

"I know," Delenn replied. "This… helps already. Simply to talk about him, to say his name again to someone who knew him…" The unspoken implication, that Lennier's name had not been mentioned in this room for a long time, was not lost on G'Kar. "I cannot tell you what caused Lennier to leave the Anla'Shok," she said softly. "That would be betraying his confidence. But he promised me one day he would earn my forgiveness, and I had hoped he would keep that promise. That I could have seen him again, talked to him once more before…"

"I understand," G'Kar said. He did, all too well.

"It has been less than five years since we won the Shadow war", Delenn murmured. "Can you believe it, G'Kar? Five years, and already the shadows are moving again. Except this time it's our own shadows coming to haunt us, our own anger and fear turning against us. It is happening everywhere." She let out an unsteady sigh. "You have heard the news from Centauri Prime?"

"Some of it," he said cautiously, "and none very heartening. I considered going there to see with my own eyes… but perhaps that would not be wise."

"It would not," Delenn agreed. "The Centauri have been withdrawing from interplanetary affairs, recalling their ships and traders, even evacuating some of their colony worlds. The word is they can no longer afford to maintain them. John and I pleaded with the rest of the Alliance to review the reparation demands, but they will never agree unless the Centauri ask first. And they are not asking. Some say it is death for an outsider to visit the Centauri homeworld these days."

"That has been said before," G'Kar said. "But you are right, things seem bleaker than I thought. Have you heard from Mollari at all?" He tried to keep his tone as neutral as he could, but Delenn must have caught the urgency behind it. She moved as if to grasp his hand, then drew back, hesitant.

"Not in person, no. The last time we saw Londo was almost four years ago. He visited us here, some time after you left with Lyta."

"Here? On Minbar?" G'Kar said, surprised.

"Yes. It was all quite strange," Delenn said. "He had heard we were expecting a child, and wanted to wish us well. I was suspicious at first, but he didn't act hostile or threatening at all. If anything, he seemed… lonely. He even brought a gift for David; I could not find it in my heart to turn him down." At G'Kar's perplexed expression, she called her son to her. "David, would you bring G'Kar the urn that's in your father's study? You know which one I mean."

David carried it in a few minutes later: a colorless, shapeless metal jar, strangely plain for a Centauri ornament but with nothing else to set it apart. Still, a trickle of ice was crawling down G'Kar's spine. "The bottom is sealed," he said, more to hide his distress than because it seemed like a useful observation. "What's inside?"

"According to Londo, water from a sacred stream," Delenn said. "He told us to give it to David when he turns sixteen." If she noticed the turmoil in G'Kar's eyes, she didn't call him on it. "You look tired. I can show you to your quarters, if you like."

G'Kar nodded gratefully. He was tired, that much was true. Tired and more than a little confused. Mollari had been here, on Minbar? The man G'Kar had left three years ago had seemed too resigned, too weighed down by duty to leave his homeworld on a whim, simply to bestow gifts on old friends. Or had he? Perhaps Mollari was not doing quite as badly as he imagined. Perhaps it was just him, aching to be useful, conjuring up demons just so he might help vanquish them. After Lyta, he was aching for a chance to do some good. And Delenn was right: this was not the time to go rushing to Centauri Prime. Not yet.

He would speak with Delenn, he thought later, as he sat in his quarters with the midday sun warming his face. She could help him find purpose again. The Rangers were the obvious choice, but perhaps there were others. His fate might be bound to Mollari's, but if they were truly, as Londo once said, comets which flared as they passed too near the sun, their orbits would not cross for many years yet.

Still, the years were growing shorter. And it was not as if he could ever forget. Closing his eyes against the brightness, he let the familiar image wash over him: brittle, white-gloved hands, squeezing his throat like an embrace.


	8. Vir (2267)

If Vir was sure of anything right now, it was that he shouldn't be drinking. He was hopeless at ever at holding his liquor, so drinking was risky business at any time, but when he was upset it was a worse idea than usual. To say he was upset… Well, let's just say worse attempts had been made at understatement. The Drakh Plague wasn't something to get _upset_ about. It was a nightmare; the kind that didn't stop after you opened your eyes.

Funny, how he used to think he knew about nightmares. Even his worst dreams about Cartagia, the ones where he screamed himself awake with his breath sticking in his throat, had been laughable compared to this. No, this was the real thing. Billons of human lives in danger, all because a ragtag band of Shadow servants had been out for revenge. With Earth still recovering from the Telepath War, no one had even seen the threat coming. From what Vir had heard, it was a small miracle the initial attack had been fought off, but the virus… The virus was a different story.

Five years, they were saying. Five years until the entire population of Earth would be dead, wiped out of existence like so many specks of dust, unless someone found a cure. Vir still couldn't wrap his head around it. Even thinking about it made him queasy.

A pointedly cleared throat snapped him out of his thoughts. The Zocalo was near-empty tonight, but the waitress still looked restless as she waited for Vir to order his drink. He could understand why. These past days, the station had been _too _quiet, like a fuse waiting to blow. Everyone was still in shock, Vir supposed, the same as he was, but what would happen when that shock wore off was anyone's guess.

"One orcha juice, please; extra sugar." Vir named the first non-alcoholic beverage he could think of. Generally, this was the point at which whoever was with him would smirk and try to order him a Jovian Sunspot instead. Ta'Lon in particular would do it just to needle him. But Captain Lochley, who was beside him at the bar, just gave him a tired smile and said, "Sounds good. I'll have one too."

The juice was flat and rather tasteless, which was fine to Vir; it would help settle his stomach. He glanced at Lochley from the corner of his eyes. By all rights she should be doing worse than him – it was her world which was under a death sentence, after all – but so far Vir hadn't seen her façade crack even for an instant. She looked exhausted, though. He'd swear the smudges under her eyes had grown deeper since yesterday.

"Any news?" he asked softly. "I heard the President is back on Minbar, gathering resources to look for a cure."

"He is," Lochley said, making a face as she sipped her juice. "We're trying to coordinate the whole thing between us, which is chaos, as you can guess. We should be grateful: most of the Alliance worlds have offered some form of support – funding, research material, labs, you name it. Some offered nothing, which I think surprised the President more than it did me. Not everyone in the Alliance is as enthusiastic about upholding its values, especially if it costs them. That's politics for you. It's at times like these you learn who your friends really are."

Vir was sure that last remark hadn't been directed at him, but he fidgeted in his seat anyway. "I talked to Lon – the Emperor. He told me the Centauri Republic sends its condolences, but cannot afford to provide practical aid. I'm sorry." Vir didn't mention Londo's first reaction to the news of the Drakh plague, which had been rather more surprising. The one other time he'd seen Londo blanch that quickly was when they brought out Adira in a body bag. "Londo said –" Vir gulped. "He said he hoped you would make good use of the reparation payments, seeing as you're getting those anyway."

"We are," Lochley said ruefully. She finished her drink in one long swallow. "Don't worry, Vir. I understand."

She couldn't, Vir thought, as he took the long route back to his quarters. He hardly understood it himself, so how could she? It was no secret the Centauri Republic was struggling, but no one knew exactly how dire things were. Londo kept trying to hush it all up, supposedly not to tempt the Alliance into exploiting the situation, but Vir had often wondered if it wouldn't be better to come right out and ask for help. Only it was too late for that now. With the situation on Earth, the Alliance had bigger worries than what was happening on Centauri Prime. In the grand scheme of things, the Centauri could count themselves lucky: _that_ might be the strangest feeling of all.

Back in his quarters, Vir found a message waiting: a small red light was blinking beside the comm screen. _Londo_, he thought tiredly. Or another one of his Earth contacts, calling to ask for help Vir couldn't give. Great Maker, if he was going to get through that, he did need a drink.

He heated up some jála in the kitchen, warming his hands over the fire. Not for the first time, he wished he had someone to talk to. The other ambassadors all had aides, and Vir knew everyone wondered why he insisted to get by without one. But an aide meant paying wages, and even if Vir had the money he would have felt guilty spending it. Lately he'd been transferring most of his savings to Centauri Prime, to help Lysa and Timov keep the shelter running. It made him feel at least slightly useful. And it gave him an excuse to keep in touch with Lysa. No matter how bleak things got, talking to her always made him feel better, even through the cold glare of a comm screen.

He padded back to the comm, sipping his drink cautiously. Best to get this over with. "Play message," he said, taking a breath.

And almost spilled jála all over himself.

"Hello, Vir." There was no image, only audio, and the crackle of static meant he had to strain to make out the words. But the voice… the voice was unmistakable. And _impossible_. Unless every piece of information he'd thought he had was wrong, but that was – that was –

"No," Vir said, feeling dizzy. This was no recorded message, he saw with a jolt; the console indicated a live feed. "No, it can't be, you're dead, they said you were dead, they..." He hurried to put down the jála before he dropped it. His legs felt like jelly, but if he sat down now, he didn't know how he'd ever get up again. Instead he leaned into the desk, barely feeling its sharp corners dig into his back. "Lennier?" he breathed.

"Yes." Lennier's voice sounded ragged even through the static. "Forgive me, Vir. I have no right calling you, certainly not at a time like this, but –"

Vir fought down something very much like hysteria. "They said you died, with Lyta, in the Telepath War; everything we heard confirmed it. Great Maker, Lennier, I – I said the prayers for you!" It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done: to admit to himself Lennier was gone, and perform the Minbari rites to mark his passing. It had almost undone him. "We thought you were dead," Vir repeated, hoarse.

There was no reply for several seconds; then the comm crackled. "I know. It was… necessary at the time, but I do regret misleading you, Vir. I truly – "

"It wasn't just me." Vir's tone rose shrilly; he clenched his teeth together and composed himself with an effort. "It was _everyone_. Me and G'Kar and Captain Lochley and _Delenn _–"

"I said I _know_!" Lennier snapped, then broke off, coughing. A harsh, rattling noise crackled through the speakers, making Vir flinch. "I did join Lyta. I survived the final assault on Psi Corps, but I was badly injured. Had they found me, I would have been arrested and extradited to Minbar. I would have shamed my clan, shamed Delenn… I could not let that happen."

"So you just… disappeared?" The worst of it was that it made sense. From Lennier's perspective at least. That didn't mean Vir wasn't entitled to feeling angry, but he knew himself, and how well he usually did at sustaining anger. Already, he could feel the worst of it fading, giving way to concern. "Why? _How?"_

"Lyta's people took me in. They gave me a new identity, hid me for the authorities on Earth. In return, I pledged myself to them." There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of unsteady breathing.

"Earth," Vir muttered. "Oh, gods... You're still on Earth?"

"No. I was off-world when the Drakh released the plague. Now that the planet has been quarantined, I cannot return there. I am..." The speakers exploded with another bout of coughing, violent enough it made Vir's hearts clench in his chest. The one other person he ever heard coughing like that was Londo, and then only for the past two years or so, when he was very tired or very angry. But Londo had the best medical care on Centauri Prime. If Lennier was sick, stranded on some colony world…

"What do you need?" Vir said. "Tell me. Please."

"I once promised you that, if there was ever a time when all before me was darkness, I would come to you. Do you remember?" Lennier's voice cracked. "All is not darkness yet… but the light is growing dimmer, Vir. I do not know how long I can keep running."

Vir bit his lip. "You want me to help you disappear again."

"I am not in a position to want anything," Lennier said. "I am only asking. I will not blame if you are unable, or unwilling, to help; Valen knows I have done nothing to earn it, but..."

"You're my friend," Vir retorted, indignation winning out on shock at last. "You're my friend, and you're sick and alone and asking me to help… What kind of a person would I be if I didn't at least _try_!?" But the rush of adrenalin left him just as quickly. Trying was one thing, but succeeding… that was something else. For one, it would mean perpetuating the lie Lennier had fabricated, the one about his death in the war. If Delenn found out, she would never forgive him. And there were practical matters too, like finding Lennier a safe place to stay – and stay hidden. "I'll help you," Vir said finally. "I'll find a way, but I need to think about it, talk to people. Just… give me a little time. Tell me where I can contact you."

In the end, Lennier gave him a code and the name of a contact on Io. Vir didn't ask if that was where he was staying, and Lennier made no attempt to explain. They said their goodbyes in strained tones, with Vir struggling to keep his emotions from betraying him. Then Lennier cut the link.

It was only later, as Vir sat sipping the dregs of his now-cold jála, that the reality of what had happened caught up with him. He'd made Lennier a promise, but how could he keep it? He was the ambassador to a bankrupt world, and he had no talent for subterfuge. Yes, there was that one time he'd managed to 'misplace' a few thousand Narns, but back then he'd had money to spend and the added advantage that no one suspected him. Now, he had nothing.

Except... that wasn't quite true, was it? If there was a single world the Alliance wasn't watching, where a person could disappear without a trace… Centauri Prime was all of that right now. And there was Lysa's shelter. If she agreed, Lennier could stay there and help; wasn't Timov always complaining they lacked strong hands? The hard part would be to get Lennier there in the first place. Vir would have to book him passage under a false name, but there were ways to get that done; a decent bribe worked wonders these days.

He could do this, Vir thought. He could make this work. There was a chance, just a chance, that Lennier was going to be all right.

He was still chanting it like an incantation the day he arrived on Centauri Prime. _Please, Lennier. Please be all right. _His flight had been delayed by half a day, and Vir's nerves were shredded by the time the transport touched down. During the ride through the capital, he yelled at his driver _twice_ before clamping his lips shut and staring fixedly through the window. He couldn't be late, not today. He had to be there when Lennier arrived.

The shelter was just as hectic as Vir remembered, but it almost felt like coming home. He found Lysa doing paperwork in the study. Her back was towards him, and for a moment Vir hovered in the doorway, acutely aware of just how sweaty and rumpled he must look. He squared his shoulders. "Lysa?" he began. "Lennier didn't arrive yet, did he? Are you well? You look –" He was going to say _lovely, _but just then, she turned and Vir's gaze dropped down. "_Oh."_

Straightening, Lysa smoothed down her gown. For a moment she looked as shy as Vir had ever seen her, her smile as strained as the fabric stretching across her tight, round belly.

"You're – you're –" Vir stammered.

"You can say it, Vir. 'Pregnant' isn't a dirty word." She gave him a cautious chuckle. " Or was it 'huge' you were looking for? That's all right too, I won't blame you."

"No! No, gods, I – you're not, you're – beautiful!" Vir felt a flush creep up his neck. Here he was, the Ambassador to Centauri Prime, reduced to incoherence by a girl ten years younger than him. But whatever he'd stuttered out must have helped, because Lysa relaxed visibly.

"I don't _feel_ very beautiful right now… but thank you." Vir tried not to stare like a fool as she walked up to him. "Your friend isn't here yet, don't worry. Come, let's sit down. Then we can talk."

Vir followed Lysa to the kitchen, where she poured him ice-cold water from the tap. He drank it gratefully, trying to breathe through the pounding of his hearts. "So, uh, congratulations. Who is…?"

"His name is Sylvio. Sylvio Deradi. Maybe you saw him here, when… No, you couldn't have. He arrived some time after your last visit." Lysa's forehead wrinkled in thought. "He's a baker's son. He lost his family in the bombings. My father wouldn't have approved of the match, and even Timov looks worried when she thinks I'm not watching. But he's a good man, and he's been good to the children. Mila adores him, and Noro…" Noro was Urza's oldest son, a wiry boy of thirteen who hardly ever smiled. "You wouldn't believe how much he's changed with Sylvio here."

"Is he good to _you_?" Vir said, surprising himself.

"Well – yes." Lysa's eyes widened. Then a real smile found her eyes. "He is, Vir. Really. But there's something else. Something I have to tell you. I know you've been away for over a year, but you need to know what's happening here. Sylvio – he's involved in the Resistance. He already was before he came to us, and the truth is –"

"Wait, wait, _what_?" Vir said. "Resistance? You mean, as in–"

"As in: our people are tired, Vir. Tired and hungry and desperate; they don't like what our homeworld has become, and they want to do something about it." She entwined her hands nervously. "Sylvio lived in the suburbs. They had a resistance movement less than a year after the bombings. It's different in this part of the city, but even the nobles are starting to open their eyes. It _is _happening, Vir. Not just in the capital but everywhere. I wanted to tell you because… well, if the Emperor knows, he'll try to stop it. And I don't want that. The people deserve better than this. We all deserve better."

"You're _part _of this Resistance?" For the second time that day, Vir felt the world tilt underneath him. Lysandra was part of Londo's family, by heart if not by blood. How could she be involved in this? "Lysa, if this is about staging a coup–"

"It's not," she cut him off. "Not yet, at least. But it might be one day, if things don't start to change." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you know that, for several months now, the military have been rounding up telepaths? Quietly, mind you; blink and you might miss it, but they're disappearing all the same. What does that _mean_, Vir? Why imprison telepaths unless you have something to hide? And there have been other disappearances too, they say."

Vir wrung his hands together. The news about the telepaths was a surprise to him, and a troubling one if it was true, but… "Why tell me this? You know I'm close to Londo, I can't –"

"You were going to find out sooner or later, so I'd rather you heard it from me." Lysa bit her lip. "You're close to the Emperor, like you said, so if there's anyone who can influence him it's you. You're a good person, Vir. Please tell me you won't betray us."

Vir swallowed. What he wanted to say was that Londo wasn't to blame for any of it, that he was fighting the Centaurum tooth and nail, but that would hardly help his point. Deep down, Lysa was right. If he didn't know Londo as well as he did, he'd be probably be saying all the same things, and being less calm about it, too. "No," he said, finally. "Of course I won't betray you."

"That's good." Was he imagining it, or did Lysa actually look relieved? "I knew we could trust you, Vir." She gave him a smile that looked almost fragile. "Enough about me. Tell me about your friend Lennier. I had to tell Timov about him, of course, but she vowed to keep it a secret. What's he like?"

"I, um…" Vir muttered, not sure if he should be grateful for the change in subject; just thinking about it made his stomach twist up again. "I wish I could say. It's just, it's been six years, and I don't know how much he's changed since then. _Much_, I think. He went through hard times, and some of them… well, I guess you could say some were of his own making. But I'd trust him with my life. I think, when it comes down to it, so can you."

"Well, we'll try to make him welcome, give him time to heal. If he wants to stay, he can. We can always use another pair of strong hands."

"He'll stay," Vir said quietly. "He has nowhere else to go."

"Most of us don't," Lysa said. Her eyes met Vir's for just a heartbeat, but in that moment he understood more about her than he ever had. Lysa might be better off than most people in the city, and she was making the best of what she had, but that didn't change the fact she was stuck here all the same – in this place, in House Mollari – through no choice of her own. She missed her freedom too.

"Lysa…" Vir began, but just then a door slammed in the next room. Automatically, Vir straightened.

"Lady Lysandra?" A man poked his head inside. "The Minbari has arrived. He's waiting in the courtyard."

Vir jumped, hissing as he banged his knee against the table. Lysa was on her feet before him, but he caught up with her before she reached the door. He sprinted down the corridor, through the heavy front doors and down the steps… And froze in his tracks when he saw the cloaked figure waiting at the gate.

"Lennier?" Vir said, his mouth turning dry. His mind was a jumble of emotion, and for a second all he could think of was rushing up to Lennier and throwing his arms around him, but some vestige of rationality held him back. He swallowed. His eyes were stinging, and when he swiped at them to clear his vision, his hand came away wet.

"Vir." Lennier's voice was a broken thing struggling to keep itself together. "Please do not cry for my sake. If there is anything I can do, any way I can repay you…"

Vir emitted a high-pitched giggle that he couldn't have gulped down if he tried. In an impulse, he closed the distance between them. "You're here. You trusted me. I think –" His hands found Lennier's shoulders. "I think we're good for now."


	9. Timov (2271)

"Here. You hold her for a moment." Before Timov could protest, Lysa had pressed the squirming infant into her arms, then squared off against her son. "Lucco Deradi!" she called, hands on hips. "Come here and let the doctor give you your medicine. Your little sister isn't crying, so why are you?"

Naturally, the girl in Timov's arms chose that instant to invalidate Lysa's point. Much of it had to do with the court physician – a gaunt-faced man possessed of rather more ennui than empathy – who'd just stuck another needle into the child. Timov opened her mouth to berate him, but to her own surprise found herself making shushing noises instead. Impossibly, that did the trick. The baby sobbed for a few more seconds, hiccupped and blinked up at her with watery eyes.

Noro was up next for his injection, and Timov nodded approval as he rolled up his sleeve. He was Urza's oldest, a solemn boy who spoke little and complained less; at sixteen, he was firmly in a phase where showing weakness was an unforgivable lapse. For all his sullenness, Timov loved him dearly. Out of Urza's three children, Noro alone was old enough to remember his father. Urza's death had been a huge blow to him, and Timov understood all about armoring oneself with indifference.

She stood rocking the baby until Lysa returned with Luc on her heels.

"She likes you," Lysa observed, as she lifted Luc onto the examination bed. The child in Timov's arms coughed feebly. "Look at her. She seems calm. Usually she hates being held by strangers, especially when she's sick."

"Perhaps I intimidate her," Timov sniffed, hiding her annoyance behind a prickly retort. As much as the _'strangers' _stung, it was true: it had been months since her last visit to the shelter. Part of it was her own paranoia. Whenever she left the palace these days, she couldn't shake the fear of returning to find Londo with a dagger in his back. But it wasn't just that. She was the Emperor's wife, and the people's patience was wearing thin. The last few times she went to the shelter openly and in daylight, she'd drawn far more hostile looks than respectful ones. Since then she'd taken to visiting at night, but that only made her feel like an intruder in her own house. Even Lysa seemed uncomfortable around her. And as dedicated a husband as Sylvio was, he didn't bear her or Londo any love.

These days, she only ever left the palace for two reasons: to see the children, and to keep the promise she'd made to Vir, to make sure his Minbari friend was all right. She'd tried to coax Lysa into letting the children spend more time at court instead. In winter, with disease rampant in the city, they'd be better off living in the palace than out among the refugees. But Lysandra didn't share that view.

"Lysa, I'm asking you again." Timov cradled the baby against her chest. "The shelter is no place for a child, especially not one as frail as Elyssa. She's already had pneumonia, and now _ralla_ fever. What if…"

"I know what she's had, lady Timov." Lysa stroked Lucco's hair as he held out an arm for his injection. "And I know how fragile she is – or _isn't_. I'm raising her, remember?" She never called Timov 'lady', except when she was losing patience. "We had an agreement. I bring them here when they're sick and for their inoculations; the rest of the time they're with me, where they belong. Most of the children in the city aren't privileged like this. I'm sure you know that."

She did. Of course she did. She'd have to be a fool not to realize what a fine line she'd been walking. They should be inoculating every child in the city, every child on the _planet, _but there was no money, of course. There never was. And so Timov did what she believed any parent would do as well: try to take care of her own. Except Lysa wasn't 'any parent'. Lysa had principles; the same that Timov used to have, except Lysa's hadn't been eroded by years of disillusion. Or maybe Lysa was just stronger than her. They had fought about it for years, and in the end Lysa had relented only under one condition: that no one, not even Sylvio, could know.

Timov shifted Elyssa to her other shoulder. "Will you stay a while longer? Londo would love seeing the children, I'm sure. I'll have some food prepared for you, so you can get warm before the trip home." She wouldn't plead, she'd told herself, but lately she had been coming perilously close to it.

"Thank you, but no," Lysa said. She lowered Luc back to the floor. "Give the Emperor my regards. Tell him the children have been ill, and knowing how fragile his own health has been, I would not dare to impose on him. We have to go." She held out her arms for Elyssa.

Timov swallowed a pang of loss when she handed back the child. She knew better than to try and stall for time, so she hugged Luc and mussed Noro's hair, which he allowed with a guarded smile. Lysa smiled as well, tight-lipped and strained, then turned, the boys hurrying behind her. Then they were gone, and Timov found herself alone.

Strange. For all the years of her life she'd spent by herself, 'alone' was not a word she would have used before. She'd never relied on company or even enjoyed it; in fact, she'd spent much of her life wishing she'd have _less_ of it, especially with Mariel and Daggair around. All this time, she'd been thinking it was Londo who had become isolated. That she would be immune to it. She wasn't. It had just taken her longer to reach the point where it became impossible to ignore.

Usually whenever her thoughts turned dark like this, she would grit her teeth and shoulder through it, but saying goodbye to the children had taken more out of her than she'd thought. She would go and find Londo, she decided. Ironically, unless Vir was here, Londo was the only one in the palace to whom she could talk.

She found the throne room deserted, which wasn't surprising; Londo had told her more than once he'd come to loathe the place. That left either his study or his private chambers. The former seemed more likely, but when she arrived Londo wasn't there. She felt tired, though, and her head was throbbing. Just for a moment she gave in to it, sitting down behind the desk to lean her forehead on her arms. If she could just rest for a little while…

"Timov?" Her head flew up. Londo was in the doorway, looking startled. "What are you doing here? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied, squinting up at him. He was holding an empty glass, which meant he'd been drinking again, but Timov knew better than to upbraid him about it. These days he seemed more lucid with some alcohol inside him. At least he was looking well, which was a welcome change. She'd had another scare a few days ago, when the news about the Drakh plague reached them. She'd thought Londo would have been relieved to hear about the cure – some of his friends had been human, after all – but he'd looked more shocked than anything. Later, she had found him curled up on top of his bedsheets, coughing pitifully. Just a chill, she'd thought, and had let him sleep it off, but the next morning his pillow had been flecked with blood.

All of that seemed behind them, thank the gods. Londo showed no sign of weakness, apart from a slight lurch in his step which only confirmed what she already knew. "Lysandra was here?" he asked, putting down his glass.

She nodded faintly. "Elyssa was sick again. _Ralla _fever." Just thinking about the children made her throat close up. Londo must have noticed, because suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to flinch.

"Londo –" she began, but he ignored her, his other hand sliding up to the back of her neck. It was an intimate gesture, touching a Centauri woman's bare head, and Timov surprised herself by not just slapping the offending limb away.

"There, hmm?" Londo murmured from behind her, just the tiniest hint of a slur in his voice. "You must not be so hard on yourself. You are doing what you can for them; that is all any of us can do, after all." He sounded almost tender, and something twisted in Timov's gut. _Great Maker, not now. Please. _All this time, she'd taken care not to depend on anyone; it had always been Londo who needed _her_. She told herself it was a matter of principle, but these days it was self-preservation as well. Emperors seldom lived long in the best of times.

"So affectionate, Londo?" She threw back her head. "Is that the brivari speaking again?"

Londo snatched his hands away as abruptly as if she'd slapped him after all. She forced herself to turn and meet his eyes, just to prove to herself she could do it without flinching. The pain in them was a dagger through her hearts.

"I'm –" _sorry, _she began, but swallowed it down. She had never apologized to Londo in her life; if she started now, it would be the end of her. "I asked Lysa to stay so you could see the children," she said, trying to soften the sting. "I know you wanted to, but..."

Londo's spine was so straight she was afraid it might snap, but there was no anger on his face. Only regret, and a joyless smile. "Allow me to guess, hmm? She said she would not dream of disturbing me in these troubled times."

"Something like that," Timov admitted, not even wondering how he knew. Londo always seemed to know how people would react, sometimes even _before_ they reacted; it was what raised him above others in the political game. "You mustn't blame her. It's not easy, being in her position."

"Oh, I do not doubt that." A muscle twitched beneath Londo's jaw. "Plotting a revolution under the Emperor's nose… I am sure that is not an easy task at all."

There was something ragged in his tone, a whiff of despair that struck her even before the words did. Then their meaning hit home.

"What?" Timov gasped. "Londo – what are you saying?"

" 'Revolution' is too strong a word," Londo said, peering at her as if to gauge her reaction." 'Resistance' is what they are calling it now. Uninspiring, I confess, but even you cannot failed to have heard of it." A beat. "Have you?"

"No, I – _yes, _but..." Timov made no attempt to hide her bewilderment. She'd heard rumors, yes, some of them sounding authentic enough to be true, but never any names. "I heard something was happening, but you're not actually saying that Lysa... That she would..." But it made sense, she thought, stunned. It would explain so much: the hostile atmosphere at the shelter, the secrecy whenever Lysa came to the palace, the way she refused to see Londo at all.

"They say her husband started it. It was a small thing at first, a rabble of desperate people flocking together, but of late it has been growing more organized. I did not think you were aware of it… but I had to know." Londo leaned against the desk, which made him look fragile again. Or maybe she was mistaking drunk for fragile; at this distance she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You must not speak of this to anyone, Timov. Not that it exists, not that I am aware of it, least of all that Lysandra is involved. _No one must know._ Do you hear me?"

"You're going to stop them," Timov said dully. Of course he would. He had to. The Emperor might tolerate insolence, but not treason; not if he was in any way attached to his life.

"Ah," Londo said, "no. I do not intend stop anything – only control it, if I can." He picked up the glass he'd put down earlier, cradling the stem between his fingers. "You are aware I have been… struggling to put things to rights. Struggling, and failing, I fear. This Resistance… perhaps one day it can accomplish what I could not. I will not live forever, Timov. Once I am gone, it will be up to the people to fight for our world."

"What are you saying?" Timov said, with growing horror. "This Resistance, you're just… _grooming_ them for your death? Waiting for them to make their move so the people can… _Rise up?_ To do _what_, exactly? Great Maker, Londo –" She felt queasy. "Why not just swallow poison and be done with it now?"

"So little faith, Timov. Do I truly strike that pathetic a figure?" Londo clucked and shook his head. "No, you mustn't answer that; we both know the kind of figure I strike. But I am not helpless either. At least I do not intend to be."

Timov nodded faintly, not convinced but trying. "The telepaths," she said, remembering another rumor she'd heard. "Was that your doing too?"

"Telepaths?" Londo blinked. "I don't understand…"

"They're disappearing. All over the city, telepaths have been rounded up and taken away, in secret, during the night. Did you give that order?"

"No," Londo said, going pale. "No, I did not even know… Why would they want to – _Great Maker._" He swayed unsteadily, then held up a hand as Timov stood, alarmed. "It's fine," he muttered. "I shall ask my… associates what is the meaning of this. I did not mean to worry you." He forced a smile. "You are married to an old man, Timov. I attempt to fight it, but as one grows older, one finds oneself more willing…"

"… to compromise." Timov nodded. "I know." Was it a compromise to grow fond of her husband, she wondered? When had that feeling snuck up on her?

"Do you?" Londo blinked down at her, as if seeing her for the first time. "You know... I used to think you were stubborn and harsh and rebellious and incorrigible... and I still think you are all of those things, so you must not have changed much at all, hmm? Except that where it once aggravated me…" His voice cracked, and Timov swallowed a rush of tenderness that hit her like a blow in the ribs. "The truth is... I could no longer imagine myself spending a day without you. I do not know if it is wisdom or folly, but there it is."

The skin around Londo's eyes was parched and dry, his cheeks threaded with broken capillaries, but his look hadn't lost any of its intensity. Timov found she couldn't quite catch her breath. "When I moved into the palace all those years ago… I didn't do it because it was wise," she said, with an effort. "In fact, it may have been one of my more foolish decisions."

"Do you regret it?" Londo said thickly. He reached out to brush her cheek with his hand. He was so close. All she could see was his silk collar and the pale, brittle skin of his throat. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"Don't," she said, and moved to tug down his head.

He tasted of brivari; surely that explained why her eyes were stinging.


	10. Londo (2274)

The first thought that came to him when Shiv'kala flicked his hand was _I am growing tired of conversing on my knees. _The second thought was rather less coherent, and mostly involved attempting not to cry out as his legs gave way.

He supposed he should be grateful to be on his knees and not in some other, less dignified position. The Drakh permitted him that much these days. Not out of any pretense at courtesy, of course. To say his health had grown delicate would be a sad attempt at understatement, but at least they were making an effort to treat him like the breakable toy he had become. They still made his Keeper… intervene, on occasion, but it was merely a reminder of who was in charge. It would not suit their plans to have him dying just yet, it seemed.

Good. It did not suit his own plans either.

"Enough," Shiv'kala said. The Keeper's hold eased abruptly; Londo slumped forward, scrabbling for control.

Shiv'kala moved closer, looming over him, and not for the first time Londo wondered if the Drakh was looking older too. He had long been the pinnacle of restraint, but these past years he'd grown more erratic. Becoming impatient, Londo thought. Certainly the Drakh had done less well than they'd hoped. Their first attempt to destroy Earth had been unsuccessful, forcing them to deploy the virus they had intended for Minbar instead. Then the humans had worked their magic and found a cure. Londo had borne the brunt of the Drakh's anger, but he'd still savored the sweet taste of their defeat.

For now, though, Shiv'kala's eyes betrayed nothing. "You must enlighten us, Londo." His voice was low and dangerous, a hunter closing in on prey. "It has come to our attention that the Centauri people are no longer as… impotent as we desire them to be. You have heard of a movement called the Resistance, we take it?"

That was dangerous territory, and Londo chose his answer carefully. "Every world half as shattered as ours has a movement called the Resistance. It does not mean someone is _doing _any resisting, or being efficient at it even when they try."

"But this movement _is _efficient, we are told." Shiv'kala narrowed his eyes. "And hardly as desperate for funds as might be expected. Perhaps you can tell us why."

_He has learned_, Londo thought, a chill passing through him. The first time he spoke to Shiv'kala, the Drakh had been austere and literal-minded, but no longer. Londo scowled, pretending ignorance. "I do not know what you mean."

Shiv'kala smiled – something else he had never done those first few years. "Shall I tell you where this Resistance meets... to refresh your memory? Their base is a shelter in the capital, in a residence belonging to House Mollari. A shelter we allowed to continue at your request, I do believe. Is this how you repay our generosity?"

"I know nothing of this," Londo protested, even as he realized it was no use. The Drakh weren't just guessing. They _knew. _They had operatives outside the palace now: other Drakh, and Keepers to do their bidding. Londo had suspected it for years, although he hadn't been certain until he heard about the telepaths – wherever a telepath was killed, he did not doubt the Drakh were walking. Not that the killings would expose them. Every day people were murdered in the streets.

"You know nothing, you say?" Shiv'kala's smile had turned predatory; it frightened Londo more than any display of rage ever could. "You do not know Sylvio Deradi and Lysandra Jaddo? Both of them are close to you... or so our sources would have us believe."

"Lysandra runs the shelter," Londo said thickly. Lying was no option; if he claimed not to know Lysa, the Drakh might well decide to put it to the test. "But she is family! She would never betray me." That, too, wasn't a lie. It wasn't betrayal to serve the people at the expense of the Emperor. He had done the same in Cartagia's day. "Sylvio Deradi I have never met. He is a poor man, coarse and common –"

"Yet he leads the Centauri Resistance." Shiv'kala's voice had dropped to a whisper. "And _you_ are funding them, Londo. I would not advise you to deny it, or to claim you did not realize what you did. You would find yourself... regretting it." He waved his hand again, vaguely. Londo gasped and dug his nails into his palms. "They must die," the Drakh continued, as if nothing had happened. "The Jaddo girl, and her husband too."

"Not the girl! She is no threat to you. Killing her will accomplish nothing, it is her husband you want!" Londo realized what he'd said a heartbeat after the words were out. Great Maker, had he sank as low as that – to discard one life for another, on a whim? But he must. He had promised Urza to keep his family safe. "Without Deradi, the Resistance will be crippled," he pressed. "You do not need to kill his wife as well."

The Drakh studied him intently. "You are right, of course," he said, after a moment. There was a glitter in his eyes that made Londo's stomach turn. "If the girl is so important to you, it would be a shame to dispose of her... yet. We will spare her, in case we ever have cause to question your loyalty again. But Deradi must die. And you will give the order. To prove your –" He chuckled, "– obedience."

Londo clenched his hands into fists. It was a small price to pay. No price at all, in fact, knowing Sylvio Deradi's life was forfeit whatever he did. So why did he feel like a monster anyway?

"Kill him," he said. He even managed to make it sound convincing.

"As you wish. We will take care of it." Shiv'kala extended one hand from the folds of his cloak. "Ask, and I will help you to your feet." It was a ritual they'd had for years; Londo's answer was always the same, yet the Drakh kept on asking. _Another habit he picked up from me. _

"No," Londo said, and averted his head.

The Drakh chuckled again and stepped into the shadows, leaving him alone and on his knees.

For a while, Londo heard nothing. He was braced for disaster the next time Timov returned from the shelter; then later, when reports came in of protests in the streets. But nothing happened, not then or for several weeks after. By the time Vir came to visit from Babylon 5, the Drakh still had not acted, and doubt was starting to creep in. Perhaps they had been goading him. Perhaps they didn't truly believe Sylvio Deradi was a threat.

He had convinced himself to the point where, the night a guard came to tell him he was needed in the throne room, his first response was irritation, not fear. He was tired; even the short walk from his chambers exhausted him. He gestured at the guard to open the door to the throne room, then froze in place as he stepped inside.

"Timov? Great Maker, what..."

She was sitting on the steps at the base of the throne, her robes in disarray. _Crying._ Timov was crying. Dry, breathless sobs shuddered through her, muffled behind a sleeve. Vir was kneeling beside her, but at Londo's approach he got to his feet.

"Vir?" Londo said. "What is the meaning of this?" He had meant to sound commanding, but the sight of Timov had caught him off-guard.

"Londo, there's… there's been some bad news." Vir took a step towards him. "Lysa sent me a message. Her husband, Sylvio… he went missing last night. They found him this morning with his throat slit."

Londo didn't know what he had expected to feel; guilt, perhaps, or anger or regret. But when he reached inside himself, he came up dry. "Great Maker," he muttered. The words fell from his lips like so many slick, sickening lies, but even they didn't make him feel anything.

It only dawned on him when he met Timov's eyes.

He had never seen Timov cry in his life. A decade ago, he wouldn't even have thought her capable, and even now he could barely believe it. She was close to Lysa, yes, but not to Lysa's husband. She would never shed tears for a man she had barely spoken to. Only for…

"No," he croaked. "Vir –" _Tell me it isn't true._

"Londo, I'm so sorry," Vir said softly. "Sylvio wasn't alone. Urza's son was with him. Noro. They killed him too."

He would not break, Londo told himself, even as he felt the Keeper stir on his shoulder. He would not give the Drakh the satisfaction. Somehow he made it to the throne without assistance, swatting away Vir's outstretched hand. He felt sick enough to vomit, but he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed and swallowed until the nausea turned to rage. _They tricked me. They made me beg for Lysa's life, but not for the lives of the children. _They'd changed the rules on him, and because of it, he'd failed Urza a second time. He might as well have plunged the blade into his friend all over again. _They will pay for this. Great Maker, they will. _

"Londo." From somewhere, Vir's voice drifted in. "There's another thing you have to know. I should have told you before, but I didn't… Lysa asked me not to…"

"It's all right, Vir," Timov said faintly. "He knows."

Londo opened his eyes just in time to see Vir's apprehension turn to shock. "Wait, what…" Vir sputtered. "You knew about the Resistance? _Both_ of you? I – I thought –"

"You thought if Londo knew, he would have no choice except to stop them." Timov's eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, but she was on her feet, straightening her gown with sharp, angry tugs. Londo didn't think he'd ever loved her more than in that moment, rage and tears and a fierce kind of pride mingling on her cheeks. "I'd tell you not to underestimate my husband, but then I made the same mistake. Londo has been _supporting_ the Resistance, Vir. He even used to fund them, until the Centaurum found out."

_Not the Centaurum, but close enough. _Londo forced himself to steady his breathing. It wouldn't do to let Timov fight his battles for him; not when she was hurting more than he did. "It's true, Vir," he said. "These days, the Resistance feels more like an ally to me than those whose meddling I tolerate at court. I still care about our people… even if they do not believe it."

Vir's mouth had fallen open. He closed it and swallowed, the sound painfully loud in the too-empty space. "Gods, Londo. I – I didn't know –"

"If I could be trusted?" Londo snapped, wincing at the harshness of his own voice. "Good! The walls have ears here, Vir! You must never trust me unless I tell you to, perhaps not even then. Urza trusted me with his family's life, and look where it led them!" His stomach turned; he spat out the words only to keep from gagging on them. He still did, though: something wet and sticky lodged in his chest, and he doubled up coughing. He almost relished it, just like he relished the guilt washing over him: his faithful companion, threatening to choke him by day even as that other companion did by night. Recently, he had been dreaming his death dream more and more often. It did not feel like a bad thing.

"It's not your fault," Timov said, surprising him. For a moment it was all he could do not to scream at her. _Great Maker, you know nothing! You'd never trust me again if you knew what I did! _Instead he dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief, blinking down at the ugly little specks of red against white. Which was ever so fitting, really. _Blood on my lips as well as my hands. _

Timov and Vir exchanged harried glances, and Londo forced himself to breathe deeply before he dared to speak at all.

"Well, Vir. Let us hear it. What made you decide to tell me about this Resistance? If you made Lysandra a promise, I did not think you would break it lightly."

"I wouldn't," Vir said. He squared his shoulders, and somehow all the unease flowed out of him when he did. _He is still the ambassador of the Centauri Republic, _Londo thought. _I tend to forget that when he is here._ But Vir had not forgotten, it seemed. "You said the Resistance is an ally, but they have no love for you, Londo. I know. I've been out there."

"You've been to the shelter?" Timov sounded stunned. "Today?"

"Yes," Vir said. "They know me there. Lysa trusts me, and I've… I've got friends there." He exchanged a look with Timov that was impossible to read. "Lysa doesn't want violence, but she can't control the people with Sylvio dead. He was the only thing that kept them in line, and now whoever killed him and Noro made martyrs out of them both. This whole thing is a tinder box waiting for a spark, and the moment it blows... They'll come for you, Londo. You need to be ready… or the mob will tear you to pieces, and the whole court along with you."

Londo nodded, the words trickling through as if in a dream. Dimly, he wondered how it could be that people still trusted Vir, despite his obvious ties to the court. Something told him the answer might be simpler than it seemed – that they trusted Vir simply because he _could _be trusted – but while that would matter a great deal one day, it didn't right now. What mattered was that Vir and Timov were on his side. He would need them before this was over. If this was where the end game started, it would take all his strength to see it through.

"I'm ready," he said, and prayed he was right.


	11. G'Kar (2276)

He remembered the color of the sky.

In a way it was ironic because, his first time on Centauri Prime, daylight had been in short supply. His cell had been down in the lower levels, and the first time he had seen the Centauri sky was when they led him to the cruiser bound for Narn. The skin under his eye patch had itched and burned, and after so long in darkness, even his good eye had been all but useless. He would never forget that sky, however: a clear, impossible shade of blue that had struck him as too garish for words. Much later, he had stood with Mollari under that same sky, watching the sunlight fall across his soft, pinkish skin, and told himself he could get used to this. The colors… and the company. But that had been almost fifteen years ago. Before everything fell apart.

The last time he had seen the Centauri sky, it had been black with the ashes of his people's vengeance.

If he had expected one thing upon his return here, it was that conditions in the capital would have improved, at least. But as his ship – a small but adequate craft he had purchased soon after leaving the Anla'Shok – touched down behind the Royal Palace, the sense of _déjà vu_ was almost too much to bear. This function of this district was largely administrative, he knew: cathedrals, shrines, galleries and libraries used to fill the streets, crowding in against each other like so many spoiled children vying for place. Between them had been ornate fountains and elaborate gardens. Today, there was no building left undamaged. G'Kar did not know if it was the result of his own people's assault all those years ago, or of some newer tragedy. Most likely both. Some of the crumbling structures were overgrown with vegetation, but others were smoldering as if they had burned only yesterday.

It was a good thing Vir Cotto had tried to prepare him for this. It was their meeting on Babylon 5 which had prompted G'Kar's coming here, and he still couldn't shake the memory of the haunted look in Cotto's eyes.

"I wish I could come with you," Vir had said, voice raw with doubt. "But Londo's made it clear he doesn't want me there. He can't afford having to worry about my safety, he said. The gods know Londo has enough on his mind right now, what with the Centaurum disbanded and the army having turned against him, so I don't _want _to be a distraction to him, but… I worry about his safety too. Sometime I think he forgets that. It would be different if he had things under control, but his choices these past years haven't been all that – well, rational. Truth be told, G'Kar, some of them have been disasters." Vir had looked so wretched that it had burned away what little trepidation G'Kar still felt. And so here he was, on Centauri Prime. If anyone would ask why he had come, G'Kar wasn't even convinced he could answer. Vir's story was one part of it, and Mollari's death dream was another, but so were a mass of conflicted emotions he could barely begin to make sense of, let alone explain to others. Vir hadn't asked about his reasons, though. G'Kar was sure the gist of them had been plain on his face.

They hadn't told Mollari he was coming. Vir had made all the arrangements through Londo's wife, including the codes to enter Centauri space and special permission to land his craft in the palace grounds. G'Kar hadn't expected a welcoming committee… but neither had he expected what he saw as he stepped out: a dozen guards scuttling to meet him, weapons drawn.

Being marched through the palace at gunpoint was hardly a new experience, and so G'Kar submitted without complaint. But there was something ominous about the emptiness of the hallways, which had once been bustling with activity. The large, bronze doors to the throne room were still the same, however, and by the time the guards had opened them and shoved them through it, G'Kar's heart was racing and his throat had gone dry.

A statue. Rigid and sallow and brittle, a phantom wrapped in silks – that was his first thought when he saw Londo on the dais, his face as white with shock as the gloved hand pressed to his chest. Cotto hadn't been overstating. The man seemed to have aged a lifetime in the past fifteen years. Not just physically, even though his cheeks looked mottled and sunken and his hair was threaded with white. It was the eyes. With Londo, it was always the eyes. They were the one part of him he couldn't control, the part G'Kar could still read like a book, and always had. The whole weight of the world was in those eyes now, and for a moment all G'Kar could think of was the look on Na'Toth's face when they had found her in that prison cell. The look of someone so shrouded in darkness they had forgotten how it was to walk in light.

"G'Kar?" Londo chewed the name like gravel. His mouth opened, then closed again, his throat working spasmodically.

G'Kar inclined his head. "Mollari." He had wanted his arrival to be a surprise, but for the first time he doubted the wisdom of that decision. Londo's breathing had grown erratic and his eyes were wild. Unbidden, the dream flashed before G'Kar's eyes, but he pressed it away. Even if his purpose here was to bring death, it would hardly be in this place or at this time.

"Great Maker," Londo muttered, regaining some semblance of control. "Have you taken leave of your senses? To come here, now, without warning – "

"I did give warning," G'Kar said. "Only not to you. Vir Cotto was so kind as to arrange passage for me; a good thing, or my ship would have been blown out of the sky before I even entered the atmosphere. What has happened here, Mollari?"

"Vir?" Londo said, agitated. "I sent Vir away because I cannot protect him, so now he sends you instead? Our world is in ruins, _that_ is what happened." His voice dropped to a low growl. "If you value your life, you will leave, G'Kar. Leave now, before it is too late." For all the threat implied by the words, they came out very much like a plea. Londo's face contorted; with a jerk, he turned away and descended the steps towards the window, where he stood staring out, hands clenched into fists at his side.

After a moment, G'Kar moved to join him. The guards raised their weapons but didn't intervene, not even when G'Kar went to stand at Londo 's back. Still, he didn't doubt that one word from their Emperor would bring them running. He leaned forward and said into Londo's ear, "There are some things I value more than my life, as you very well know. My curiosity, for instance. That, and I had the strangest thought you might be glad to see me. As I am glad to see you." In an impulse, he put a hand on Londo' shoulder – and flinched, at the exact moment Londo did the same. Just for a moment, he had felt something beneath his fingers, something slick and organic and ... "What in G'Quan's name –" he sputtered. "Mollari, what –"

"No." Londo was shrinking away from him, panic on his face. G'Kar stepped forward, but Londo batted him away as if he was a wild animal. "No, don't touch me! _Guards!_" he cried, shrilly. "Take him away! Lock him in a cell! He must not –" A fit of coughing seized him and he doubled over, unable to continue.

The next instant, hands had locked onto G'Kar's arms from behind. His first impulse was to fight, to wrench himself free, but then he looked up again and froze in place. Londo looked pale as death – one hand scrabbling at his collar as he panted, heavily, mouth twisted into a rictus of horror. In his split second of hesitation, a guard drove an elbow into G'Kar's stomach while another rifle-butted him in the side of the head; his skull _crack_ed and his artificial eye went rolling across the marble. He tried to call out but the guards didn't listen, and Londo was looking straight through him. Dazed, G'Kar allowed himself to be led away.

The cell they put him in was an improvement over the one he'd been given the first time he was here. There was a stone sleeping bench, a modest table and chair, and a latrine in a corner. There was even fresh water from a faucet in the wall; G'Kar tried it suspiciously, sucking the liquid from the palms of his hands. It was lukewarm, but tasted decent enough. Wincing, he fingered the lump on the side of his head and the empty socket where his artificial eye had been. It felt strange, tender in the open air.

He paced for a while, then forced himself to sit down on the bench, trying to get his tattered nerves to relax. Londo had snapped the moment G'Kar put a hand on his shoulder, feeling … what, exactly? A lump? A tumor? Whatever it was, the mere thought that G'Kar had felt it had been enough to send Londo over the edge. Of course, speculation would bring him nowhere as long as he was locked in a cell. His only hope was that Londo would come to his senses at some point.

G'Kar didn't know how long he had waited before there was the sound of a key turning. The door swung on its hinges, an Imperial Guard standing stiffly at attention in the corridor. A familiar white-clad figure entered a few seconds later, shooing off the guard with a wave of his hand.

Londo hovered at the door, somehow managing to look as apprehensive as G'Kar was feeling. He was clutching the Imperial seal that hung around his neck, as if its weight alone gave him strength. "Great Maker, G'Kar..." He swallowed as he looked down into G'Kar's face. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am about your eye. My guards retrieved it, but it was… damaged beyond repair. I should have ordered them to treat you kindly, but I – I was not thinking as clearly as I should."

"It is merely a piece of machinery," G'Kar said. He chose not to remark on the odd choice of topic given the situation; losing the eye was a nuisance, yes, but for the moment, he considered having been imprisoned to be the greater predicament. He peered up at Londo's hunched form. "Have you merely come to tell me this, or did you intend to explain why I am here?"

"Ah, yes. You are here… for your protection," Londo said, fidgeting. "You were about to ask a question I could not answer and hope to keep you alive. Instead of keeping my cool and sending you away quickly, I… panicked. Through that, I sealed your fate, I fear. They will never let you leave now that you know there is a secret here."

Somehow, G'Kar managed to refrain from asking who 'they' referred to. Instead he cut right to the core. "When I touched your shoulder, I felt… something. I could not see it, but it seemed… alive." He let the silence stretch out for a terse few heartbeats. "You say they will not let me leave regardless of what happens. I assume that means you might as well tell me what it was that I felt."

"I… suppose it does, yes." Something in Londo's posture relaxed fractionally; after a moment, he lowered himself onto the bench beside G'Kar. Up close, the ravages of age were even clearer than they were in the throne room. Londo's cheeks were limp and sagging, the whites of his eyes clouded with red, and with every breath he took, something wet and ugly-sounding rattled in his chest. But his eyes were alert and clear. "If I tell you, you may never speak of what you know. I believe they will spare you as long as you remain silent, but if you ever tell anyone else, that person's life would be forfeit as well as your own. Do you understand me?" At G'Kar's nod of consent, Londo leaned forward and peeled back the heavy white scarf he'd worn around his neck.

G'Kar gasped.

It is called a Keeper," Londo said, with a calm that struck G'Kar as bordering the surreal, given what he was seeing. There _was_ something on Londo's shoulder, grey and shapeless and unspeakably, indeniably _wrong_. As Londo spoke, it shivered and its one red eye turned on G'Kar, blinking slowly. "They can choose to remain invisible when they wish," Londo explained. "I have asked it to show itself to you. It controls me. Not directly, nor can it read my mind, but it has… ways to force me to do its bidding. It, in turn, is controlled by a species known as the Drakh. You have heard the name before, I take it?"

"Yes," G'Kar muttered, feeling ill. "It was the Drakh who released the nanovirus on Earth." He swallowed, caught between shock, loathing and rage. "How long have you carried this creature? Since…"

"Since the day before I became Emperor," Londo said. He was having difficulty meeting G'Kar's eyes. "When I came to say goodbye to you… I carried it. As did the Regent before me. The Drakh forced him to order the attacks on Alliance shipping lines, and later to drop the defense screens when the Narn and Drazi fleets arrived." He tucked down his chin and whispered something. The air around the Keeper seemed to ripple, and then it vanished as if it had never been there at all.

G'Kar struggled to control his reaction. If Londo had been in the Drakh's power for so long, it would explain a great deal – like why he had been so adamant about sending them all away before his coronation. It would also mean Londo had been living inside a nightmare for too long to even contemplate. "But… that was fifteen years ago," G'Kar said feebly. "I would have thought you would have been able to rebuild some of your world since then, but the devastation –"

"– is unspeakable. I know. Would you believe me if I told you you have come on one of the good days, G'Kar?" Londo' voice had turned bitter. "On a bad one, it seems like this entire part of the city is in flames. The work of Resistance cells, attempting to drive their point home. It has been like this for the past two years. Ever since my… associates were reckless enough to assassinate the Resistance leader."

"I did not think your people would be of the type to start a rebellion." G'Kar regretted the words as soon as he'd spoken them. Subject any world to enough misery, and of course its people would rebel. Even as spineless a people as the Centauri used to be… but might not be anymore, it seemed.

"Ah, but that was the Drakh's mistake as well, you see?" Londo said. "They believed they had crippled the Resistance, but instead they turned the entire planet against me. Even the military was on the verge of rebelling – they are common people, tied to the common cause more than to the Royal court; not like the Imperial guards who serve for life. For a moment, I actually considered allowing the military to take over, for all the good it would do. But there are Drakh outside the palace grounds as well, and they have too many hostages against me. I sent Vir away, but he is not the only one. Timov is still here, and there are… others, whom I have sworn to protect. Instead I assembled the military leaders and told them to take their men and leave. My… associates had not expected that. It was quite a spectacle, I must say. Especially when I then disbanded the Centaurum as well." Somehow, talking had seemed to energize Londo; the despair on his face had made way for a grim determination.

"This Resistance… They haven't tried to storm the palace?" G'Kar asked. It was inevitable, or so he would think.

"Tried but failed, repeatedly. This palace was built to withstand sieges, so we are relatively safe here. As safe as we are powerless, in fact. Ironically, the Drakh now rely on me for protection – while I, of course, rely on them for not destroying everyone and everything I hold dear. They claim they have planted fusion bombs, but what good would it do to detonate them? It could only inflame the people further. Of course, the Drakh might simply have killed me and replaced me with another, but I rather believe this has become… personal. They wish to break _me,_ as much they wish to break my people. That, and I have always suspected a Keeper must be taken voluntarily. I cannot imagine there are many volunteers left here, so… a fascinating stalemate, hmm? Though, of course, it cannot last."

"So, G'Kar said. "You have maneuvered the Drakh into an untenable position, but –"

"– my own position is no less untenable. Yes. I know."

G'Kar blinked. "What will you do?"

Londo harrumphed, with more vehemence than G'Kar had expected. "What _can _I do? Pray for a miracle, I suppose; anything to change the game. I bought my people some time, but as long as this foul creature clings to me, reporting on my every movement, then – _mph._" Londo cut himself off with a strangled noise of pain. G'Kar moved in instinctively, but Londo waved him off with a white-gloved hand. "It is all right. It is simply my… associates, warning me to guard my tongue. They do not like to be reminded of my defiance. They want –" He gasped and stiffened, fingers digging into the rough stone of the bench.

"Are you saying," G'Kar whispered, "the creature is doing this?" He leaned in closer, but the Keeper remained invisible no matter how much he squinted. So this was what Londo had meant when he said they had ways to control him. G'Kar swallowed down a surge of bile. "By G'Quan, Mollari… Is this what you've been enduring every day?"

"Bah, no!" Londo said, his voice a rasp. "They are merely... showing off, for your sake. It is not…" Another spasm went through him – as if the Drakh were proving a point, G'Kar thought. Londo swayed dangerously, and G'Kar steadied him with an arm around his waist. For a moment, Londo sagged against him, gasping feebly into the leather of his coat. Then he pulled away and hunched over, face averted. His shoulders were shaking.

G'Kar didn't know what made him reach out and touch Londo's back, only that he couldn't resist the impulse if he wanted to. "Mollari…"

Londo responded with a hiss of indrawn breath. "G'Kar, don't… I am an old man, foolish and weak. You shouldn't –"

"There is a difference between weakness and grief." Slowly, following an instinct he had not known he still possessed, G'Kar ran his hand down the curve of Londo's spine. Londo shuddered, but didn't pull away. "This Keeper you carry. No one else knows about it." G'Kar didn't make it a question.

"No," Londo said thickly. "Though if someone did… I do not doubt they would call it punishment well deserved."

"Some might," G'Kar admitted. "But I am not one of them. You did your penance long ago, and I have no desire to see you suffer any longer."

"For my old crimes, perhaps. I have committed many new ones, G'Kar; would you like me to list them for you?"

"If you want to," G'Kar said. "But not for my sake. Only for yours." He had never felt so much pity for anyone, yet Londo didn't sound like someone who had given up. The old cynicism was still in his voice, which was a miracle in itself, G'Kar thought. He still had so many questions – about the Drakh's plans, the meaning of the urn on Minbar – and he did not doubt Londo had many more things to tell him. But all of that could wait for now. "Look at me, Mollari," he said, his voice a whisper. "I promise you, I will not flinch from whatever you say."

One, two, three shuddering breaths, and Londo turned to face him. He was close enough G'Kar could feel his breath against his neck, coming in short, shallow gasps from between those pointed teeth. For a moment, he could swear he felt a twinge of… what, exactly? Nothing as strong as arousal, nor would he have called it – G'Quan help him – love, or need. Melancholy might be the right word. It had been so long since he had felt the warmth of a body against his. _This _particular body he had not touched for fifteen years, but that did not mean he had forgotten.

"Why, G'Kar." Londo's voice was strained. "I did not think I would ever see that look in your face again. Or in anyone else's, for that matter."

"Not even your wife?" G'Kar said, breathing through the effort it cost him. He could see every line in Londo's face, could see what the ravages of time had done to it, yet it no longer disturbed him.

"Timov?" Londo started to laugh, then caught himself. "There was a time when I did not care. Now that I do, I am afraid to even look. For some reason she still trusts me, but I – I cannot believe – "

"Perhaps you _should _ look," G'Kar said, putting a palm on Londo's chest – cautiously, not touching anything that would make this more painful than it had to be. He still remembered precisely where to touch, if he wanted to. But the time for that had passed long ago. "Perhaps you'll find something you weren't expecting."

"Great Maker." Londo looked down. "I've _missed_ you." His tone was brittle, laced with surprise. Under G'Kar's hand, his ribs rose and fell rapidly. "I always believed you would come back, you know. That you would be here… before the end."

G'Kar nodded. "Because of your dream."

Londo breathed out sharply. "You _know_?"

"It was one of the images that has always remained with me after I … entered your mind," G'Kar said. They had never discussed that particular experience before, and not for the first time, he wondered if it had been an error in judgment.

"But –" Londo swallowed. "The dream says we will both die here. You knew, and you still came? Why?"

G'Kar shrugged, if only to hide the turmoil in his own mind. "Does there have to be a reason? Because I was curious. Because I wanted to see how you were. Because the dream may only be a dream. Because even if it is not, I would have preferred seeing you die by my hands over never seeing you again. I have always tried to question the tasks the universe sets us, but sometimes one simply needs to have faith."

Londo's lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "With everything that has happened, you still speak of faith in the universe? You haven't changed."

"Oh, I have," G'Kar said. "But the universe is a bigger place than you and me, Mollari. Even in the face of despair, there is always something worth having faith in. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't know," Londo muttered. "Yes. Perhaps." He took a deep breath. "You are here, so I suppose... the universe has not done that badly by me after all."

G'Kar nodded. "Quite true. And I believe we both know I am not going anywhere." Somehow, the prospect did not seem nearly as terrible as it should.


	12. Timov (2278)

"They're in bed?" Timov had never been skilled at whispering, but she still pitched her voice as low as she could. The governess – one of Lysa's charges, young and nervous and far more serious than anyone of her age should have to be – nodded meekly, eyes on the floor. Timov resisted the urge to grab her chin and force it up with her own hands. _Curse it, girl, look at me! _It was no use, though. The girl was afraid of her, so snapping would do more harm than good. There had been a time where the mere _act _of snapping would have made her feel better, but those days were long gone.

Cautiously, she opened the door a crack. Luc and little Elyssa were fast asleep, the muted light from the hallway spilling across the twin beds. Timov watched them for a long moment. The palace was hardly a place for children, yet somehow they'd thrived during their time here. As exhausting as they were, Timov was glad for their company. Some days they were all that kept her going.

Londo, uncharacteristically, had refused to see the children at all. Simply convincing him to take them in had been agony, even after Lysandra had come to plead in person. Lysa herself still lived at the shelter, but that situation was fast becoming precarious. Rebel groups had turned half the neighborhood into a warzone, and the house was far too close to the palace grounds. Lysa had refused to leave, however. Just like she'd refused to cut ties with Timov entirely. It had earned her the scorn of some of the resistance members, who were calling her a weakling and a traitor; only a few months ago, a group of them had tried to torch the shelter, refugees and all. Lysa had barely discovered the fire in time. She'd turned up at the palace gates the next day, the children in tow.

Timov couldn't blame her. In Lysa's place, she would have done the same: principles be damned, the palace still seemed the safest haven for any of them to be. Lysa hadn't lost any of her principles, but she _had_ grown milder with age. Not that she had picked a good time for that. She was trying to walk the line between her family and her people, but these days that line had shrunk to the width of a sharpened blade.

Londo, too, was walking a fine line. Not that Timov understood how or why. She still didn't know why he had refused for so long to take in the children, any more than she knew what had made him change his mind. All he had told her, in a tired whisper, was something about the danger not being that much greater inside the palace than out. If that made any sense, Timov had yet to find it. But it didn't matter. Luc and Lyssa were here, and they were safe. For now.

Timov shut the door again, taking care not to let it slam closed behind her. She should try to get some sleep as well, but instead she found herself drifting towards the throne room. She froze at the sound of raised voices from inside.

"Where is he, Londo?" That was Vir, sounding frantic. He'd come over from Babylon 5 a few days ago, but Timov had barely seen him since he arrived. "He's here, he _has _to be! G'Kar told me – he swore to me he'd come to you, and that he'd contact me as soon as he could. So why haven't I heard from him in _months_? Was he captured? What happened to him? Did he –"

"Vir." Londo's voice was steel. "You are being ridiculous. If G'Kar were here, I would have shown him every courtesy. I am telling you: _he did not come_."

"I don't –" Vir began, breathing hard. "I don't believe you." Head whirling, Timov pressed back against the wall. She hadn't heard about any recent visitor to the palace – least of all a Narn, least of all _this _Narn – but the moment Vir voiced his doubt, she could sense it as well. Londo was lying. He wasn't even trying very hard to hide it.

"I see," Londo said. Timov could hear the effort behind it. "So you are calling me a liar now?"

"I don't know what to call you… or what to believe." For a moment, Vir's anger seemed to deflate. "Londo, you keep telling me how you have everything under control, how you don't need me here, don't even _want _me here, and – you can't expect me to just take your word for it. Not when every single thing I've seen here contradicts you. Don't you see? It's chaos out there! We could be looking at civil war here, and I just – I don't even know if you're still _trying_."

"Oh, I am trying, Vir." Londo's voice was raw. "Do not delude yourself. I am trying harder than you know."

"To do _what_? Londo, the people want your head on a pike! The only reason why they haven't tried harder to get their wish is because they've been too busy starving and dying! I could help, if you let me. I still have friends outside the palace. It's not too late. I know you remember Lady Morella's prophecy. I'm still not sure if I ever believed it, but maybe it's time… Maybe if you'd step down willingly, I could convince the people –"

"_You _could convince the people?" Londo spat, or tried to: a spasm of coughing transformed his rage into a struggle for air. Timov could not begin to guess what prophecy Vir was referring to; for a moment, she felt galled that Londo had never told her. Then Londo's coughs trailed off, and she had to strain to catch his words. "I do not need your help. And I most certainly do _not_ intend to step down. If you cannot say anything useful, then leave! Go back to Babylon 5 if you wish, but stay away from me!"

This wasn't anger she was hearing, Timov realized. It was fear. Couldn't Vir hear it? Of course, Vir hadn't spent the past fifteen years trading barbs with Londo the way she had, but still…

"I won't leave," Vir retorted, even as Timov edged closer to the door. "I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but this has gone on long enough. Maybe you no longer care, but I do." His voice rose shrilly. "If I have to take matters into my own hands, then that's how it's going to be, but there's no way I'll let you –"

"Out." The word emerged as a growl. It was low and hoarse and desperate, and it made every hair on Timov's skin stand on end. "_Get out_," Londo repeated. "And until you've finished talking treason, do not come back! Do you hear me? Do not _dare _to show your face to me again!"

There was a sudden _crack_, followed by a gasp which Timov echoed reflexively. Then hurried footsteps came clattering across the tiles. She stepped forward just in time to intercept Vir, who was storming out of the room, coat flapping behind him.

"Lady Timov?" Vir did a double-take. His cheeks were a blotchy crimson, his eyes wild. "Oh. Oh, gods. You heard all that?" When Timov nodded, he exhaled shakily. "That noise, it was nothing. Well. Not nothing, but I just – I threw my glass at him. Not even _at _him, really, at the floor, but I was so angry, I don't know why I lost control like that. I'm sorry. I – I should leave."

Timov caught him with a hand on his arm. "Don't apologize, Vir. I've been known to throw worse things than glasses at Londo's head, and I've never felt guilty, so neither should you." She was only half joking. "Come. You look like you could use a drink." Without waiting for an answer, she tugged him away and towards the small sitting room that had become her customary refuge at night. Sometimes Londo would join her for drinks, although that happened less and less often. Most nights, she would simply sit there alone, trying to order her thoughts before going to sleep.

She pointed Vir to a chair, then examined the contents of the liquor cabinet for something suitably potent. Vir held his liquor well enough these days. After a moment, she decided against brivari; better for Vir not to be reminded of Londo with every sip. Instead she poured them both a goblet of strong, red wine.

She handed Vir his drink before sitting down herself. "You said something about a prophecy. What did you mean?" Perhaps she was being too direct, but better that than dawdling. Vir was hardly a fragile flower.

"It was… a long time ago," Vir said, staring into his glass. "Did you know the Lady Morella? Emperor Turhan's third wife?"

"I met her once, not long after Londo married me." A striking woman, far too intelligent for the life she'd ended up in. They said that while he lived, Turhan had done everything to keep the truth about her powers a secret. Timov could well imagine it. All of it to protect her, to be sure, but Morella had not given the impression of wanting to being handled with velvet gloves. Even then, she'd had a way of pointing out uncomfortable truths: Timov still remembered Morella's expression when Londo had introduced her, calling her his beloved wife. "That was before she was known as a Seer, though. She only went public after Turhan died."

Vir nodded. "Londo asked her to See for him. Like I said, I - I'm still not sure if I believe it, but she said one of us would be Emperor after the other was dead." He raised his glass with a jerk, taking a long swallow as if to drown the memory. "I don't even know why I mentioned it just now. To get through to Londo, I suppose. I know he's always believed in prophecies, so I thought it might make him listen."

"Oh, he listened." Timov sipped her own drink a little less sparingly than she'd intended. "Rather too well, I would say. I haven't seen Londo this agitated in months, so you must have done something right."

"Yes, but…" Vir slumped back against the pillows. "You heard what he said about G'Kar, about not needing any help… It all seemed so _wrong_. Maybe I'm being paranoid, maybe G'Kar never did make it here, but Londo's piling up one half-truth after another, and I don't understand why. It scares me. He could at least tryto reach out to the people, before the rebels manage to sneak in and slit his throat while he's sleeping. But instead he's just…"

"Waiting," Timov finished for him. "I know. For what it's worth, Vir, I can't imagine G'Kar would be in the palace without me having heard." Something niggled about those words, but she ignored it; pressing down her unease was something she had become all too skilled at with time. "But you're right. Londo worries me too. Not that long ago, I asked him: what do you think you'll accomplish, barricading yourself behind the palace walls? What are you waiting for? _'A chance','_he said. What does that even mean?"

Vir shook his head wearily. "He had a chance to win the people for him, but now… he has nothing. Centauri Prime is nothing. We can't even defend ourselves if we have to. The fleet is in shambles, we don't even have an army left. He's given up, Timov. Either that, or he's just stopped caring. Londo isn't a cruel person, but that doesn't mean he can't tolerate cruelty. I know what he's capable of. I thought he'd changed, but maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe I care about him too much to see the kind of person he's become."

"He's tired. Like I am." The words were out before she realized. But they were true. She felt for Londo, not because she was that convinced he was right, but because she couldn't imagine he had stopped caring. She could see it in the lines of his face, in the look of despair when he thought she wasn't watching. She knew how tired he was, because she felt it too. "He's still fighting, Vir." She leaning over to rub her eyes with her hands. Even with what little she'd drank, the sudden movement made her dizzy. "And I know you do too. Please, tell me how you've been. I've seen so little of you since you arrived here."

As changes of subject went, it was pitifully transparent, but Vir indulged her anyway. "I know. I've been seeing some people outside the palace, getting a feel for what's going on. I saw Lennier just this morning. I couldn't believe how well he's settled in. He's lonely, I know that, but he's handling it better than I thought he would. Did you know he's been making a name for himself as a healer?" Vir was babbling just to settle his nerves now, Timov knew. "Oh, and Lysa sends her regards. She said she misses the children, and so far the rebels have left her alone, but she isn't sure if it will last. She still has many supporters with the people, though. And I've been making some friends of my own."

"I see," Timov said. The wine churned uneasily in her stomach. "Vir. Tell me, honestly. Do you _want_ to rule?"

To his credit, Vir didn't just blurt out a denial, as blunt as the question had been. Instead he let out a shaky sigh. "I don't know. I have no ambition, but if push comes to shove, I – I think I could."

He could, Timov thought. If she had to put her money on anyone, it would be Vir – even though this was not a life she would have chosen for him. Neither would he, it seemed. The color had drained from his face, and his hand was unsteady when he put down his glass. _The worst rulers are always those with ambition. _They could do much worse than having Vir in charge. And she hardly believed in prophecies; as symbols, perhaps, but not as truths that were carved in stone. So why was she terrified anyway?

As tired as she was, sleep came fitfully that night. She didn't dream, but wherever she looked, the shadows seemed to be moving. Still, she must have dozed off eventually, because when the knocking began, she woke with a start.

"My lady?" A pause, leaving her just enough time to rub the sleep from her eyes. Then another sharp rap of knuckles on wood. "My lady, you must come! The emperor has summoned you."

The Emperor? _Since when does Londo summon me at night?_ Shivering, she wrapped herself in a robe, then padded unsteadily towards the door. Two guards stood in the corridor, each attempting to look more grave than the other. There was no need. Her hearts were already in her throat.

Even in sandals, her footsteps carried eerily in the empty hallways. She had expected the guards to take her straight to Londo, but instead they led her to Vir's chambers instead. The reason, when she entered, was clear enough.

His breathing was ragged – harsh, frantic gasps punctuating the silence, cutting through any qualm she might have had about entering uninvited. Vir was curled up on the huge four-poster bed, the sheets in disarray. The room smelled vaguely of sickness and sweat.

"Timov?" Vir stirred when she bent over him, then made a strangled noise of pain between his teeth. "I can't-"

"Shh." Somehow, her hand was in his hair and stroking it gently. _Great Maker. _He was burning up. There was a glass of water on the nightstand, which she took and offered him just to feel useful. "Here. You should try to drink."

"I can't," Vir repeated, between clenched teeth. "Can't keep it down. I tried, I just –" He panted feebly. "I need – help. I can't – breathe right."

Her hearts twisted at the helplessness in his voice, but she forced herself to consider the options. All in all, there were far too few. The court physician was long gone. Some of the guards were trained in triage, and they had a well-stocked supply of medicines, but what good would those do when she didn't recognize Vir's symptoms? Perhaps Londo would know - but where was Londo anyway? "Vir, did you send the guards to find me? Does Londo know?"

"Londo is-"

"The Emperor knows, my lady," one of the guards interrupted. "It was him who ordered us to find you. You are to take Ambassador Cotto to a hospital; a carriage is waiting outside. You are to leave quickly, under cover of darkness. But he wants you to go see him first."

"Go see him?" she said, puzzled. "Why won't he come here?" When the guard remained silent, the twinge of unease in her stomach intensified. "Vir - do you have any idea of what caused this? Did you feel ill before? Did you eat or drink something we didn't? Did you –"

Vir pointed feebly at the dresser. A bottle was on top of it, about three-quarters full. "A guard brought it to me. I thought –" Vir's breath wheezed in his throat. "I thought it was Londo's way – of apologizing. But I don't think – that was his intention – after all."

Timov took the bottle, uncorked and sniffed it. Brivari. A fine vintage, from Londo's personal stock. "I don't understand..." she began, then stopped herself. "Vir, no. You don't really think..."

The pain in Vir's face was answer enough.

She was trembling by the time she reached Londo's chambers - with rage or exhaustion, she couldn't say. It didn't matter. A pair of guards were flanking the door, but they let her in without a word.

Londo was at his desk, his back towards her. Timov slammed down the bottle in front of him. "_This_. _You_ did this?" She could barely get the words out.

"Please, Timov." Londo sounded breathless. "It is not your style to ask questions you know the answer to. You know I did it. Let us not mince words."

"_Why_?" She felt dizzy. "Have you lost your mind? Vir could do so much for you, if you let him. Why make him your enemy? Why risk his life?" She couldn't even say what appalled her more: what Londo had done, or the utter lack of remorse he seemed to be showing. "Get up, curse it! Look at me. You owe me that much, at least." _Before I walk away from here. _

"I owe you... somewhat more than that, I think." Londo's eyes were fixed rigidly on the curtains in front of him. "I cannot stand up, however. I am... rather too drunk to do so. But you may ask anything, and I will answer what I can."

"You've been drinking? _Now?" _Somehow, that flimsy detail was the one that stuck in her mind. With an effort, she steadied her breathing. "You poisoned Vir." Just saying it made her feel queasy. "Because of what he said today? That if you won't fix things, he will do it for you? Vir would never betray you. He is your oldest friend."

"My oldest _living_ friend. We both know what has happened to the others." Between one breath and the next, Londo's voice had turned raw. "Which answers your question: I would very much like to keep him alive. Except he has suddenly decided to make himself a target, and I would rather see him alive and loathing me than see him lose his head, or worse."

"You set this up?" Timov said, stunned. "For whose benefit?"

Londo shook his head sharply. "What is it they say on Earth? 'I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you'? _Never_ ask me that question if you value your life."

Timov bit her lip, struggling to make sense of it. She could not imagine who could want Vir dead, yet somehow Londo believed it; she'd known him long enough to tell truth from lies. That made him either a madman or Vir's only hope. Despite her anger, she actually found herself considering the latter. "Your guard said to take Vir to a hospital," she said. "But there are only a few working ones left, and who is to say if they can even help us? Vir's is in a bad way. If he –"

"Ah. This will help." Londo opened a drawer, retrieving a small vial from inside. "You did not truly think I would poison someone without having an antidote on hand? I am an old man, not an idiot. Give him this within the next few hours, and he will be all right. But wait until you are outside; we must put on a good show for whatever eyes are watching." He pressed the vial into her hand. "A hospital will not be needed. Simply take him somewhere safe, but do not tell me where."

For a drunk man, Londo sounded chillingly lucid. Timov nodded, racking her mind about where to go. Not the shelter, which was far too exposed; to one of Vir's close friends, perhaps. Possibly Lennier. Vir trusted him implicitly, and he was not Centauri, which made him about as neutral a party as one could find. She put the vial into her robe pocket. "When Vir recovers, what do I say?" It seemed she had already made her decision. _Gods help me, I must be as mad as him._

Londo stifled a cough behind his hand. "Tell him... that the palace gates will be closed to him if he tries to return. Apart from that, say whatever you wish. It is out of my hands in any case. But do not dull his anger. He will need it if he is to get the people at his side. Better if they believe I betrayed him... and for them to believe it, Vir must too."

Timov stared. "You _want _him to take the throne from you?"

"Not now. But when the time is right. Supposing... it ever will."

"It will," Timov said, suddenly feeling more hopeful than she had in weeks. She had purpose again. Vir needed her. Yes, she would be misleading him, but she could not deny Londo seemed to know what he was doing. And, the Maker help her, Londo needed her too. "What about me?" She steeled herself for the answer. "If I go with him and come back... will the gates be closed to me too?"

For the first time that night, she saw Londo falter. "No. No, of course not." He sagged and closed his eyes. "You surprise me, Timov. After tonight... I did not think you would wish to come back at all."

"You stupid man," she said, and left him there.


End file.
